Pirates of the Caribbean: Barbossa and the King's Messenger
by ShahbanouScheherazade
Summary: Her uncle betrayed her. Hector Barbossa tried to kill her. Now Nina wants revenge on them both. Will Jack Sparrow help her? Can love conquer fear? And will she realise what, and who, she truly desires before it is too late? Now: Ch. 26 - Let Justice Be Done - The battle for Pencarren begins. Hector B, Jack Sparrow, Tia Dalma, Teague. Rating adjusted for later chapters.
1. Escape

**Disclaimer:** I have no claim whatsoever to any part of the Pirates of the Caribbean franchise. The original characters and original plots are owned by me.

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**Escape**

"There's no turning back now," whispered the gypsy, as he disappeared into the gloom of the moonless Cornish night, leaving me standing at water's edge. The words sent a shiver down my back.

_Who turns back when the devil himself is giving chase? _ I thought. The feeble lights of Pencarren did nothing to dispel the darkness at the shoreline, but that suited my purpose. Under my hat, the ends of my newly-cropped hair, darkened with indigo and henna, whipped about my neck. The night air was cold, and I had no cloak – only the haphazardly assembled gypsy garb which the Romanys had provided to aid in my escape. My last, bleak hope was pinned on one old friend of my late father, but the harbour was silent and half empty. For the thousandth time, I touched the locket hanging from my neck.

As I did so, I heard a low whistle nearby. Moving cautiously towards the quay, I peered into the black shadows below it. I edged closer, and waded into the shallow water underneath the dock. I could hear the slap of the water against the hull of a boat, invisible in the darkness. A pair of powerful arms seized me before I could make a sound, pulling me over the gunwale and into the boat. I heard a gruff voice at my ear say, "_Hush_ – lie down!"

I lay down in the bottom of the boat, holding on to the bag that contained my few belongings, as unseen hands threw a quantity of burlap over me. Someone moved about, standing in the boat, and I felt the small craft rock and scrape against the piers as it was maneuvered out from under the wharf. My companion took a seat and I heard him begin to pull the oars, rowing us away from shore.

After some time, he ceased rowing, and remarked, "We're past the harbour entrance – ye can come out from under that sackin'." I struggled out from under the burlap and took a seat. The person who had effected my escape was sitting opposite me, oars in hand, and proceeded to study me for several moments. His silhouette revealed him to be a tall man with a broad back and strong arms, but I could not make out his face or any other details.

"Name's Rufus," he said, at last. "We're layin' by, round the point over there. Sorry, but ye'll have t' climb the laddar. Cap'n says any closer t' port would be very unwise indeed." He resumed rowing as he talked.

"We have our own ways o' doin' things, I expect ye know. Ye'll find out more aboard ship – but hark, now: when I take 'ee up the laddar, yer m' dattur, Jenny, an' yer goin' straight to yer quarters, right? Try not t' look about, nor say nothin'. No questions, no stoppin', right?"

"Yes," I replied, my heart pounding with anxiety. So I was not yet safe, I thought, even on the ship belonging to my father's closest friend.

As we rounded the point, I could make out the well-loved ship laying by. The longboat drew next to the hull, and Rufus motioned me to remain, while he climbed the ladder first, taking my bag with him. Next, he leaned down and indicated that I could now ascend the rungs that led up from the chilly dark water. His strong hands reached down to hoist me on to the deck, and I was on board the _Misty Lady _at last.

As I tried to keep my gaze focused downward, Rufus seized me by my arm and steered me to the main hatchway, down the steps, and into a very small cabin. The room was furnished with a narrow berth, small looking glass, and wooden shelf which held a lantern, bottle of rum, and two tankards. He tossed my bag on the floor and adjusted the lantern. I sat on the berth, every muscle tensed, as he stood with arms crossed, his back against the closed door.

"I'm the ship's doctor," he remarked, staring down at me with a grim set to his mouth. Now that I could see him, I thought he cut a most extraordinary figure for a doctor. Rufus was a man of perhaps sixty years, taller than average, very roughly dressed, and his long, heavy, raw-boned arms were bared to the elbows. His hands were outsized, with elongated, gnarled fingers; I thought he would have triumphed easily in a prize fight. Silver-grey hair was scraped back from his badly-shaven face and bound into a very long frizzled pigtail that almost reached his waist. His face was seamed, with a deep scar across his nose, and his gaze was hard and direct, under his straight grey eyebrows. He had a somewhat wide mouth that curved down at the corners, in a perfect arc of disapproval.

"Cap'n's just goin' t' step round an' greet ye here." He cocked his head to one side and paused for a few moments before finally declaring, "I never met yer father – 'ee were before my time. But Teague says 'ee were a brave and loyal friend. King or pirate, lord or gypsy, t'were no matter to Cap'n Harry Houlton Bitter," he nodded, "an' Teague means t' see ye right."

There was the sound of footsteps at the door, and Rufus quickly opened it to admit Captain Teague. I breathed a deep sigh of relief as my host poured a tot of rum for me and one for himself. Rufus, still grim-faced, stepped outside the door and shut it behind him.

"Welcome aboard, Nina," Captain Teague said quietly, as he handed me the rum; his voice was low and slurred, and his aspect tended to alarm those who, unlike myself, had not known him since childhood. He still retained some of his youthful looks, but I noticed that his finely chiselled face had aged over time, becoming marked with an ever increasing quantity of lines and scars, while his mouth had lost its youthful shape and was starting to become heavier and looser. And yet, his eyes were just as I remembered them. They were as dark and deep as the midnight sky, and their gaze was fixed, powerful, and intense. _I am in the presence of the Pirate Lord of Madagascar,_ I reminded myself.

"Thank you, Captain," I said softly. "You've saved my life. I can never repay you."

"Say no more, love," he answered quickly. "Don't you speak of repaying me." He studied the bottle at his hand before speaking.

"What'll you do in Port Royal?" he asked, pointedly omitting any questions on the terrible events that had led me to this desperate course.

I was relieved to be questioned about the future rather than the past, and so I answered promptly, "Since my father taught me so much of medicines and herbs, I thought to apply to any physician or apothecary that will have me."

My rescuer considered this for a moment, nodding slowly, "Sounds reasonable." He paused, and then leaned forward, gently moving the edge of my sleeve to expose the dark bruising on my elbow. "But . . . the trick is," he said, indicating the discoloration, "what'll you do if _they_ find you there someday?" I had no answer for this, and drew my sleeve back down with unsteady fingers.

"Your father taught you more than just bits of herbs 'n' such – what about those other skills? They're more than practice and play. Many a time they saved 'im from death. A King's Messenger's life can match a pirate's for danger."

_It's a wretched shame that his skills couldn't save him from a lonely, gruesome death at the end_, I thought. News of my father's murder had blown a hole through me like a cannon shot. Though my heart was shattered, much to the scandal of the town and my own mortification, I could only sit dumbly, shedding not one tear. And the events of the following weeks brought such horrors that my every thought was bent upon staying alive.

Teague finished his rum. "Still 'ave the badge, Nina?"

I nodded, indicating the rumpled sack at my feet: the silver greyhound on the blue ribbon was safe in its small leather box. "I took his badge and pistols – and the scimitar."

Although able to use a proper sword, I was forced to leave my father's finest weapon hidden on a high shelf in my room. I could barely fit the shorter Turkish blade into the small sack.

"And this," I held up the locket.

Teague frowned and looked closely at the miniature inside. "That's all you have of him? Not much of a likeness – might be your uncle's face."

"Then, please tell me," I asked, yielding to a matter of great perplexity to me, "why did he never speak of his brother's existence, nor warn me of his character? I always believed that my father and I had no other living kin."

He hesitated for a time, as if he was unsure where to begin. At last, he shook his head. "Your father did as he thought was best for you, for many reasons. I won't second-guess the man. For now, you keep faith with him and steer your course by all he taught you, and you'll be safe as houses." And he refused to be drawn out further on this matter.

"You know we have our own ways here," he told me. "Rufus'll be your sentinel. He'll explain. And here's a bit of compensation for you." From his waistcoat pocket, he withdrew a small, thick packet wrapped in parchment and handed it to me. Then, before I could read the handwritten label, he departed.

Rufus entered once more, and I set the packet aside. He seemed to consider his words for a moment, and then began instructing me. "Gentlemen of fortune," he announced, "have got their own rules; an' one of 'un is no women or boys on board." As I started to protest, he held up his hand. "But ships 'ave got a rule fer handlin' such a thing, in case it can't be avoided. On the _Misty Lady_, the rule is: Cap'n appoints a sentinel t' protect the person from disputes an', uh, other intentions that might set the crew a-fightin'. He appointed me. Ye have naught t' fear from me; I'll keep ye safe an' in health all the way t' Port Royal." Having delivered the first topic of his lecture, he paused a moment before proceeding, pouring rum into Captain Teague's tankard and drinking it off.

"Now, seein' that yur a friend of the Cap'n, an' ye have a price on yer head, we have t' make sure no one knaws who ye are. Twon't do no good t' hide ye in yer quartars if the crew thinks there's gold t' be had from those huntin' ye. So ye ain't Nina Bitter until ye gets t' Port Royal. On board the _Misty Lady_, yer m' dattur Jenny, an' yer t' help me as surgeon's assistant. I'll vouch for 'ee, an' the tale goes that I bargained with the Cap'n fer free passage t' the Indies for 'ee. Can ye do that?"

"Yes; I'm Jenny and you're my father, and – what's my surname?"

"Smith," he replied.

"Jenny Smith, and I'm your assistant. But I know nothing of surgery. How am I to manage that?"

"I'll see to it," he answered. "I'll give ye a bit of trainin', an' ye can watch an' help. Cap'n says yur able t' use yur head fer more than wearin' a hat." He looked at me skeptically, as if waiting for a denial.

"I enjoy learning," I told him. "I promise to apply myself whole-heartedly."

"Good," he rejoined. "Apart from that, ye need t' keep yer cabin. I'll bring victuals, books, drink, whatever ye need. I'll lock 'un in from the outside, an' ye'll have another lock ye can use from the inside."

"What if some one picks the lock?" I asked nervously.

"That's a low, underhanded business, an' no self-respectin' pirate traffics in it," he said, indignantly. "I've never met 'un who could or would pick a lock, all the years I've followed the trade."

"I do apologise, Ruf – ah, Father," I said. "I see that you and Captain Teague have been at some pains to devise a plan, and I'm sure the arrangements will work very well indeed. I'm very thankful for all your efforts."

Rufus smiled, the arc of his mouth reversing itself to a smooth upward curve that was the inverse of his habitual sour expression. "Very fair spoke, miss – Jenny," he replied. "I'll leave ye t' get some rest now. I'll start trainin' ye up a bit tomorrow." He eyed my figure for a moment. "An' I'll bring ye some cloth t' bind 'un breasts with – no sense in presentin' any more temptation than necessary." I blushed and nodded.

Rufus departed and I heard the scrape of the key in the lock. I locked my side of the door, and then turned to the packet on my berth. Examining the wrapper, I found this brief inscription in my father's hand: _For dear Nina, who loves the study of language. Practice makes perfect. From her loving Father._ My hands shook as I tucked the wrapper under my pillow, unable to be parted from anything that recalled his memory to me.

There were only three small books in the packet, and none looked very diverting. One appeared to be a brief, leather bound collection of travel memoirs in a somewhat antique form of Spanish, another was a commonplace book in my father's writing, with rather mundane notes on various commissions from his career as a King's Messenger, and the third was a copy of the _Odyssey_ in Latin. I tried to settle on this for my reading, but the tale of wandering sailors seeking their home made my spirits fall very low.

Eventually, I extinguished the lantern, and laid myself down to sleep. I found that the small size of the room and the locked door put me at my ease and made me feel safe. I wondered if I could find some accommodation of similar size in Port Royal_. If only I could manage to disappear like a rabbit down its hole,_ I thought, sending my thoughts away from the world around me as I drifted to sleep.

During the next several days, each morning was devoted to studying anatomy with Rufus in Teague's day room, while I gave my afternoons to reading books in my cabin.

Rufus was a knowledgeable teacher despite his broad, country speech and hard ways, and I never tired of asking him questions about the procedures under study. He had some natural curiosity about my history, which surfaced one day at the end of a lesson on the proper way to extract splinters and lead shot.

"Cap'n thought the world of yer old dad," he remarked. "They shared many an expedition over the years. I was wonderin' how it all begun?"

"I don't actually know," I answered. "They were fast friends long before my time. The Captain used to visit Highcliffe House with young Jacky. Most nights, we would pass the evenings amongst the gypsies. Other times, the men would sit before the fire at Highcliffe, drinking and yarning about my father's days as a King's Messenger."

Rufus looked perplexed at this. "Now that name's a puzzlement to me. Do you mean 'ee woz like one o' them post boys?"

"Not at all. The King would give his most private letters to my father, to be conveyed by safe-hand anywhere in the world – and he was sworn to defend them even to his own death. He usually travelled alone, by any means he could, with diplomatic immunity. More than once the family thought him lost forever."

"And a' course, then, the catastrophe," Rufus added, watching me as he cleverly shifted his questioning to more recent developments.

"We all know," he went on, sidestepping how this knowledge reached his ears, "how yer uncle did ye out o' home an' fortune, an' sent yer young man away. I'm bound t' say not even a pirate would use his kin so cruel - not many of his close kin, anyways."

Although Rufus was generally as hard as a bucket of iron nails, he meant his words kindly. Nonetheless, they cut me to the quick, and I flushed as I thought of how my uncle had disposed of my engagement to handsome James Norrington. Seeing my stricken face, Rufus hastened to make amends.

"Don't take on so, lass – 'ee's young and foolish, yet may come round in the end. Don't 'ee follow the sea? Mayhap ye'll find him in Port Royal someday!"

_Heaven forefend,_ I thought, almost in tears, _James would certainly repudiate me now_.

Rufus said no more, and I looked up to see that Teague had entered the room and was fixing Rufus with a dark look. Anxious to spare Rufus from any trouble, I began a different line of conversation.

"Good morning, Captain," I said to Teague. "I've heard so much activity on deck today that I had determined to ask you where we are."

"Tenerife," Teague replied, "taking on provisions. We'll have enough left at the end to stay out of ports for a time. Even then, we've got other ways to replenish our store." This last was said with a sidelong look at Rufus, who tried to hide a half-smile.

"How are you managing?" Teague asked me, with the same look of watchful concern he had been giving me throughout the voyage.

"I'm managing well, thanks to you," I replied, "and I'm making some progress in my medical training."

Teague nodded. "Ready to be called upon if needed?"

"Ye-ess," I stammered.

"She's a clever maid," Rufus put in. "I think she'll do. We've just finished up for the day, Cap'n. Be out of yer way directly." He quickly gathered his books and escorted me back to my cabin.

The details I had revealed to Rufus that morning either proved sufficient to supply his curiosity, or Teague may have intervened; however it came about, I was spared any further friendly interrogations for the remainder of the voyage.

The practical phase of my medical education began early the following morning with an abrupt knock on my door.

"Jen! Up wi' ye!" Rufus shouted at the keyhole. I was already awake and dressed, so I unlocked the door and opened it to find him holding a bloody rag against his head. The knuckles of his hands had fresh scrapes and cuts. "Yer needed in me surgery - now!" he said, pulling me out of my cabin.

Alarmed, I stepped out quickly; Rufus locked the door and grabbed my wrist. He almost dragged me down the steps to the gun deck and began marching me towards the bow of the ship, kicking the legs of the sleeping gunners as we passed. "Out o' me way, dogs," he growled. We reached the ship's surgery, a small, foul-smelling room in the bow, and he drew me in through the curtain at its entrance.

"Now," he said, "ye'll see why ye need a sentinel." He removed the rag, exposing a deep, bloody cut, about two inches long, over his left eye. "Ye need t' stitch it up the way I showed 'ee with the oranges; tes bleedin' too much t' let it be. Tes drippin' in me eyes fit t' blind 'un." He took up a bottle of rum from the floor and set it upon a small table. "That's fer after. I need t' guide 'ee first."

He glanced at my hands, which were shaking. "Steady, m'girl. Get a breath into ye. Tesn't no different than stitchin' a leather glove." I took a deep breath and threaded the needle he gave me. Although I was very hard pressed to remain calm at first, I found that I became unexpectedly absorbed in the work of neatly closing the wound, and I felt a flush of pride when Rufus inspected my handiwork in a glass and nodded approval. "I'll make a doctor of 'ee yet," he said. "Ye knaw why tes best t' be the ship's doctor? Tes because ye don't sign the articles." I realised he meant the Articles of Piracy that most pirate ships required.

"Officially, yer counted as a presoner," he went on, "an' should the ship be taken, ye won't face the drop. A' course, they pay 'un a share of the booty - but off the books." He opened the rum with his teeth, took a swig, and offered the bottle to me.

I took a drink, and pointed to his injuries. "What led to this?" I asked him. He grinned, although the hawk-like expression in his eyes never changed.

"There was two gentlemen interested in makin' yer acquaintance this mornin'. They met up wi' me unexpected-like an' tried t' take me key; I gave 'em a good cootin', an' they scat 'un on the head."

Apprehension overtook me immediately, as though I were back in Pencarren. "Will you point them out to me so I can avoid them?" I asked.

"They won't trouble 'ee again," he answered flatly. "They've left the ship." His stare left me in no doubt as to his meaning.

Rufus escorted me back to my cabin by way of the captain's quarters. Teague looked up from his chart table as we entered. "All right then?" he asked us.

"Ais, Cap'n," replied Rufus.

Teague glanced at me. "Seems yer becomin' a surgeon," he remarked with the hint of a smile. "You'll do well in Port Royal." He nodded, dismissing us, and Rufus made for the door, but I lingered a moment longer with a more personal question on my mind.

"I was wondering, Captain . . . what do you hear from Jacky?" I finally brought out, feeling keenly the absence of my closest childhood friend. "I haven't seen him for two years now. It does all seem so unnatural."

Teague had not yet mentioned his son to me, and I suspected some estrangement between them lay at the root of it. "Oh, he's about," he replied. "Perhaps once you're settled, you'll find yourself in Tortuga for a visit – you'll likely run across him there." He gave me a thoughtful look. "If Port Royal don't suit you, your old mate'll see you right. Jacky always looked after you." I smiled and thanked him as I left, although even in Pencarren I had heard much of Tortuga, and none of it good.

In the following weeks, Rufus allowed me to assist him more in the surgery; however, the crew was in health and I spent most of my time idly looking over Rufus' books, instruments, and medicines. Then came the incident that marked a turning point in my life.

We were in the surgery when I heard a ruckus of voices and someone crying out in great pain. The curtain was pushed aside and the quartermaster brought in a man whose hand was badly wounded and gushing blood. "Damned fool shot 'imself primin' 'is pistol," the quartermaster said with disgust, as he left the surgery.

Rufus examined the man's hand as our patient groaned and cried out. "It has t' come off," he said at last.

I felt myself grow faint as I recalled Rufus' lessons on amputations, but I knew I would be needed. Rufus pulled out the bottle of rum and a stick. He gave the man a long drink of rum, and let him bite down upon the stick. Handing me the tourniquet, he pointed to the man's arm. "Four fingers above 'ere," he told me. I measured, and applied the tourniquet, which Rufus checked. Drawing out his amputation knife, he cut quickly and expertly to the bone. I held on to the table, fearful of swooning, and indeed it seemed as though the room were turning black around me. I lowered my head for a moment, and gradually my vision cleared. After he secured the arteries, I held the patient's arm steady as Rufus used his saw to cut through the bone in less than a minute. Our patient seemed to be half conscious and in a daze. Rufus pulled the flesh together over the cut and supervised my stitching up the wound. When the arm was bandaged, I sighed with relief, but Rufus shook his head. "Tesn't finished; help me raise 'is feet an' wrap 'im up warm." We settled the man as best we could in his hammock, according to Rufus' instructions, and went back to clean the surgery.

"That was Kitto," Rufus informed me. "Brother t' one o' them that done this." He indicated his forehead where I had stitched up the cut. "I d' wondar why he'd be primin' his pistol just now. What's t' do in the middle of the ocean wi' a pistol, eh, Jenny?" He gave me a grim smile.

Kitto developed an infection that lasted a few days, but under Rufus' watchful eye, he rallied and was restored to health. I knew that many amputations ended in the patient's death, and Rufus' skill impressed me.

A few days after Kitto had been declared out of danger, I was in the surgery with Rufus, organizing his instruments near the curtained entrance. Rufus was on the far side of the little room making an inventory of his supplies. All at once, the curtain was thrust aside, and Kitto appeared, his back to me, pointing a pistol at Rufus' head.

It seemed to me that time itself slowed to a crawl, as Rufus looked up, his eyes wide with surprise. I remember wondering if my father had also looked surprised when he was murdered. Kitto said, "Got ye!" and his hand began to squeeze the trigger. Rufus, my protector, teacher and friend, was seconds from death.

Suddenly I stirred, not from any conscious impulse, but as if a stranger were directing me. In one swift motion, I stepped towards Kitto, the razor-sharp surgical knife in my hand, and, as if in a dream, drew the blade across his throat. He dropped to the floor, his neck pouring out blood.

I stood frozen to the spot still clutching the knife tightly. My heart was pounding against my ribs and the noise of my breathing seemed loud and rough in my ears. Rufus stepped forward and turned me away from the body, as he pried the knife from my hand. He led me to my cabin, saying some words that I did not catch to one of the crew in passing.

Once in my cabin, he sat me upon the edge of my berth and poured rum into both tankards. My teeth were clenched so tightly it was difficult for me to drink the rum he offered me.

"Did I kill – did I kill that man?" I finally managed to ask, as I stared at the floor.

"Ais, he's gone t' make one o' the damned below," he replied. "An' ye saved the life o' the ship's doctor; seems I owe ye thanks." I concentrated on breathing, and then tried again.

"Are you sure he's dead? Kitto's truly dead?"

"I see," said Rufus, after giving me a puzzled look. "Tes yer first time. Ye learnt t' handle a sword an' a gun, but here tes different: here, tes life an' death. If ye hadn't a' killed him, we'd both of us be dead." He drank his rum, and added, almost to himself, "Twill never be that hard again." Seeing that I continued to sit like a mindless wooden doll, Rufus sat next to me and threw an arm about my shoulders. "Tes alright, lass; tes alright," he said, "I knaw how ye feel." We sat in silence for some time. At last he patted my head, and said "I'll need a word wi' Cap'n now. Ye can keep yer cabin today an' I'll look in later."

I spent the day trying to read, and most of the night as well. At first, I would stare at my hand, unable to fathom how it had held the knife and cut Kitto's throat; then I thought, if not for this hand, Rufus would have been killed today. _Now_ _I'm changed forever, _I thought, _or perhaps it was always there. The truth is, I would do it again to protect my friends, to avenge a wrong. That's the truth about me._ It was as though I had never really known my own character. Nonetheless, each time I fell asleep that night, I dreamt of Kitto, sitting in my cabin with his throat cut, saying "_Got ye!"_ and I would awake with a jolt of horror.

From that day on, Rufus took a strange sort of pride in me, as if I truly were a favorite daughter. I seemed to have won his respect, and he redoubled his efforts to educate me as our friendship grew stronger.

After a few more weeks at sea, we anchored near the Port Royal road, and I prepared to disembark.

It took but a few moments to pack my belongings in the sack: badge in leather case, two pistols, scimitar, boy's clothing, little books, and the heavy, cut braid of my hair. Now I could carry all my worldly goods with one hand, I marveled.

"Oi! Jen!" Rufus called through the door, "Cap'n intends t' send ye ashore. Are ye ready?"

"Yes, Father!" I touched my locket which rested on the lacy ruffle of my borrowed gown. Turning to the small looking glass, I pinned the braid to my hair, winding it around and tucking the ends of my hair into the semblance of a proper coiffure. I took one last inventory of my cabin before taking up my sack.

When I emerged, I spied Teague on the quarterdeck. He nodded slightly in my direction as I caught his eye. Rufus saw me quickly into the longboat and began rowing for shore.

"Sorry for the hurry - fair wind at the moment, an' we've business elsewhere," he told me. As we neared the shore, he offered a last bit of advice.

"Hark at me now, miss: ye'll find persons in Port Royal usin' names that ain't properly their own. They've many a reason, and who can say what they are," he fixed me with a piercing stare. "I advise ye t' think on taking a name other than 'Bitter' – t' fox anyone bearin' tales back to yer uncle Hanibal." I felt suddenly very cold.

"I should recommend," he continued, "perhaps matchin' the 'B' on yer pistols . . . 'Branwell', or 'Boscawen'." I nodded, unable to speak.

When the longboat reached the dock, I disembarked stealthily. Another ship had made port, and I mingled unnoticed amongst its passengers. Walking through the strangers in Port Royal, it struck me that my father's old friend might be the last familiar face from home that I would ever see, unless I could get on the track of his son in Tortuga.

But the prospect of Tortuga alarmed me. It was full of lawless cutthroats on an endless spree, using ill-gotten gold and plentiful liquor to fuel every form of debauchery imaginable. Jacky might not even be there, and if I did find him, what sort of men would he now count as friends? Anything was possible. I decided to keep to Port Royal until I could overcome my feelings of unease.

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Next: Chapter 2 - Captain Jack Sparrow - In which a new life is interrupted by an old friend.


	2. Captain Jack Sparrow

******Disclaimer:** I have no claim whatsoever to any part of the Pirates of the Caribbean franchise. The original characters and original plots are owned by me.

**Captain Jack Sparrow**

Tropical sunlight flooded through the small window panes in the apothecarist's shop as I sat writing at the clerk's tall desk. It was now a year since I had been employed by Jasper Ticking, MD and Apothecarist. When the shop was open, I dispensed medicines, stitched up wounds for the town's seafaring folk, and kept books for Dr Ticking. Any idle moments were spent pining hopelessly for James.

I had secured my situation upon the very day I arrived in Port Royal by going to the Merchant Exchange and enquiring after the town's surgeons and apothecarists. It seemed to be common knowledge among the larger purveyors of medicinal supplies that Jasper Ticking of Tower Street was often in need of an assistant, and so I walked the short distance to visit his establishment.

Upon entering the shop, I had found Ticking seated at the very desk I now occupied. He was a small, thin man who did not appear to be in health, with a lack-luster eye and pale, twitching hands.

"Good day, sir, I wonder if I might trouble you for a moment?" I asked, bobbing slightly in an approximation of a curtsey.

He smiled vaguely at me, and I continued. "My name is Nina Boscawen, from London. I am lately arrived in Port Royal, and am seeking employment. I wondered if you have heard of any doctor or apothecarist in town who might be in need of an assistant?" I waited anxiously, hoping he would indicate some interest.

Although he replied with a faint smile and a nod, I was struck by the tired and monotonous tone of his voice. "As it happens," he told me, "I have been seeking someone to tend my shop. My wife is . . . ill, you see." He paused until I thought he had lost the thread of our conversation, but then he added, "Do you think you might be suited to such work? Do you have any sort of references, Miss Bos . . . ?"

"Boscawen," I answered. "I am the daughter of Dr Ranby Boscawen of London." Here I swallowed hard, out of nervousness at my lies, but contrived to pass it off as distress at my situation. "My dear father was well-known in London – he was even called to court once, to consult on . . . on a matter of some delicacy." I knew better than to make any statement, true or false, regarding the health of the Royal Family. "He always allowed me to assist him in his surgery, and I have some knowledge of mixing compounds and the proper application of many remedies. He also," I added, deciding to take a risk, "taught me to close wounds by stitching."

Dr Ticking looked horrified yet intrigued. "Did he now? Well, it seems you've received an unusual education to say the least. And what brings you to Port Royal?"

I sighed. "Debt and ill-health ruined my father's fortunes, and his death shattered our family. I wrote to an uncle I had heard was living in Port Royal, but had no reply. I decided to set out to find him, but either my information was in error, or he left town long ago."

"And what was his name?" enquired Dr Ticking, after another long, dreamy pause.

"Carteret Smith," I replied, hoping that Dr Ticking was not acquainted with anyone by that name. Dr Ticking did not seem to be attending to my answer, and now I observed that his pupils were as small as pinpoints under his drooping eyelids, and his complexion was pallid. As I took in the details of his haggard appearance and unkempt wig, I began to realise that Dr Ticking exhibited many signs of opium addiction.

Finally, he focused his attention once more. "Your speech is genteel and pleasant, Miss. Port Royal is destined for prosperity and greatness once again, and to hold the custom of my patients, I require that my shop reflect the air of refinement which you possess." I kept a solemn, hopeful face, although I inwardly laughed at the idea of being engaged to work here due to my speech rather than any of my skills.

Dr Ticking explained that my duties would be solely in the shop, opening up, filling orders and prescriptions, and keeping accounts. I would work for my keep, and a small weekly pittance. I accepted his offer of employment on the spot, and he showed me to the shop's back room, the usual quarters for shop assistants. On the floor, under a large work table, was an old wool-filled mattress where I could sleep. The back room was small and stuffy, but if I were looking for a rabbit hole into which I might vanish, this would surely do.

My employer did not seem an unkindly man, and I thought that perhaps this situation would suit me. I felt confident that I could manage the shop, and if he were either under the spell of the drug, or sleeping off its effects, I would have the solitude I craved.

The Tickings lived in rooms above the shop. At first, Dr Ticking made a show of being present in the shop around midday. After several weeks, however, he kept to the rooms upstairs, and days often passed without my seeing him. I gradually came to understand that Ticking and his wife were both opium-eaters, who passed the time lying about their parlour, unaware of their surroundings and absorbed in their fantastical visions.

As part of my duties, I learned how to prepare laudanum, which was much in demand. Dr Ticking hinted that he kept a watchful eye upon his stock of opium, of which I had no doubt, since an addict who runs short of the drug is a pitiable sight. However, poor Dr Ticking needn't have worried that I might pilfer from his supply. Opium inspired only horror in me ever since the day my uncle had slipped a large, poisonous dose into my supper so that I could not save myself from the fate he had arranged for me.

Once I settled in, fear that any news of me might reach my uncle's ears proved a masterful jailer. I avoided making the acquaintance of anyone in Port Royal, and kept to the shop as rigorously as one who is detained in Newgate. As I worked, I would hide my face behind plain glass spectacles, leaning close to the ledger page or the compounds I was preparing.

At night, as I lay on the mattress, my thoughts often turned to James, wondering where he was and how he could have thrown me over so easily. I would call to mind each ball we had attended, and any phrases that I remembered from his letters. Upon this thin diet I contrived to feed my affections. Nevertheless, I always reached a moment when I recalled the day my uncle broke our engagement, and I remembered watching James stride away from Highcliffe, his hands clasped behind his back, without once turning back or looking up at my window. He lost no time in writing me a polite letter, taking the blame to himself, and then I never heard from him again.

To remedy the effect this produced on my emotions, I would then remember my time aboard the _Misty Lady_. Closing my eyes, I would recall every detail of my quarters, and concentrate on remembering the pleasant roll of the ship that had lulled me to sleep each night. I found to my surprise that I seemed to have acquired a taste for the sea-faring life. I missed Teague and Rufus, and I often tried to imagine what ventures they might be pursuing in the Caribbean. These thoughts also led me to muse on the happier days of my father's adventurous life, avoiding the terrible pain of contemplating his death.

The only memory I dreaded from that voyage was my encounter with Kitto. For many months, he still appeared in my nightmares, saying "_Got ye!"_ as I stared fearfully at his bloody throat. Gradually, however, I began to dream of him less often, and when he did appear, he was a silent, neutral presence. In some dreams I even spoke to him and he listened, although when I awoke, I could never recall any of what I said. After suffering thus for nearly ten months, my dream changed utterly. I dreamt that Kitto and I were seated facing each other, and I thought that we had been conversing before the dream began. I felt very calm as I observed him rising from his seat. He started to walk away from me, but then he paused. Turning to look back over his shoulder, he said, "This be the last time. Ye'll see me no more." And strange to say, he never troubled my sleep from that night on.

On this particular day as I worked at my desk, a shadow from the window flickered to and fro over the ledger page. Annoyed, I looked up to find the cause of this phenomenon. To my great astonishment, a familiar figure was weaving about, just outside the shop, apparently peering down Tower Street in the direction of the harbour.

A great wave of unreasoning joy overtook me for the first time in a year, and I leapt to open the door.

"Jacky?" I cried in amazement. Alarmed, the figure quickly spun about and seized my shoulders, forcing me back inside the shop.

"Hello, darlin'!" said Jack Sparrow. "I thought that was you I spied tottin' up accounts!"

It had been more than two years since our last meeting, and it was clear to me from the weapons he carried that he was prospering in his father's trade as a gentleman of fortune. He had grown into a rather raffish, attractive man of about thirty, with a sharp, cat-like stare, handsome figure, and engaging smile that I thought must cause many a female heart to leap with excitement. He was attired in buccaneer fashion: an elegant waistcoat showed off his strong, wiry figure and lent a bit of dash to his appearance. His sleeves were trimmed with luxurious Flemish lace, and a flowing sash was wrapped about his waist. He wore French Musketeer boots, folded over below his knees, which gave his stance an air of authority. His skin was sun-darkened, and heavy rings of kohl emphasized the feline quality of his dark, intense eyes.

His hair was longer than I remembered, black dreadlocks adorned with an assortment of beads and trinkets, and surmounted by a crimson headscarf and leather tricorne. His mustache and beard were the same, except that he now wore his beard in two braids.

Now Jack was staring at my spectacles, frowning and pursing his lips as he tilted his head from side to side. "Er . . . would those be for reading or distance?" he finally asked.

I snatched the spectacles off my face.

"And by the by," he added, "I'm 'Jack' now." He leaned towards me, spreading his fingers and gesturing with both hands. "_Captain_ Jack Sparrow, if you must know," he said, strutting a bit.

"You? A captain? Why, Jack Spar—"

"Shhhh!" Jack hissed. He quickly put his finger to my lips and gave me a conspiratorial look. "Better not say _that_ too loud, savvy?" He looked past me, surveying the empty shop for anyone who might overhear us.

"Well, what shall I call you, Ja—," I broke off as he motioned me yet again.

"Tell you what, darlin' . . ." he narrowed his eyes, ". . . let's just go with 'Mr Smith', right? Or, 'Smithy', if you like."

I laughed. "Then tell me what you're doing in Port Royal, '_Captain_ Smith'! It delights me beyond words to see you! I have felt so utterly marooned until now!"

"Ah . . . well," he said, lowering his voice as he placed his arm around my shoulders. "Perhaps I can be obliged to make you feel a bit less marooned, eh?" He glanced around the shelves. "Got anything to drink?" He took up a bottle of laudanum and sampled it.

"You won't need much of that," I observed. I locked the shop door and led him to the back room, where we sat at a small deal table and continued our conversation.

"Are you surprised to find me here," I asked, "or have you spoken with your father?"

Jack leaned back in his chair and made a face, curling his lip and rolling his eyes. "That question calls for another drink," he said, taking a swig from the laudanum bottle, "Although one could argue that some sort of communication did transpire."

I fetched a bottle of rum and two cups from a shelf and substituted this for the laudanum. Pulling the stopper from the rum, I pushed the bottle towards Jack and took my seat again.

Jack poured out a measure of rum for each of us, took a drink from his cup and lowered his chin. Fixing me with his steady gaze, he said, "Rufus gave me all the news." Then he reached out and took hold of my hands. "I'm sorry as I can be, love," he said very seriously. "Bad luck all round. Your dad was one of a kind, and I truly mean that. And your bloody uncle . . ." He shook his head. "Seems like the devil looks after his own, don'it?"

He patted my hand and reached for his drink, determined to offer counsel and comfort as if he truly were my elder brother. "Here's the way I see it, m' girl," he told me, between swigs. "Your consolation is that Hanibal took nothing from you that can't be replaced, one way or another."

_So you've only heard a portion of the story_, I thought, looking down quickly. Jack had an uncanny ability to read my thoughts, and I wanted to bury certain events forever.

He tipped my chin up with his fingertips and smiled. "By the by, Rufus says you were quite good at the medicinal trade. Not to mention savin' his miserable skin! He seems to have adopted you, to hear him talk."

I laughed at this. "I was known to the crew as his daughter Jenny," I explained. "Rufus was at some pains to instruct me as to how a ship's doctor arranges matters with a pirate ship. Perhaps he hoped I would follow in his footsteps."

"I have no doubt of it, and I hope you're properly impressed. Fathers don't always give that sort of encouragement to their sons, much less to a fictitious daughter," Jack replied, looking slightly envious.

"I'm very sorry indeed to hear that," I said, but Jack gave a flick of his wrist, dismissing whatever trouble lay between him and his father.

"No worries – it'll sort itself out. In any event, I do think Rufus was disappointed you didn't stay on the _Misty Lady_ – although it's difficult to tell with him," he conceded. Then he looked around at the shabby little room and glanced at the woolen mattress on the floor. "Y' know, you could sign on to another ship as the ship's doctor – well, the ship's _almost-doctor_ – and have all manner of adventures where fortune smiles on you." He waved his hand at the room. "God knows it don't look like there's much on offer here."

I drank my rum in silence for a moment, but I knew Jack would soon come to the subject of my engagement and James, of whom he never fully approved. Jack poured another drink and, as I expected, took up the matter of my romantic disappointment.

"Now, as for Norrington," he began, trying to reassure me. "First off, there are lots of fish in the sea –"

"But that was the fish I wanted," I interjected.

Jack rolled his eyes. "I admit he looks good on paper, darlin' – dashing lieutenant with a bright future, et cetera – but did you ever think that you might be destined for a different sort of life than sitting home all day, playin' hostess to a lot of pinch-faced old trout while your nearest and dearest goes gallivantin' about the world? And if he impresses the Admiralty, he gets a ship, or a fleet of ships, and you get – what? More trout in your parlour." He glanced at me out of the corner of his eye as he took a drink. "I can't see it. You should have thrown him over."

"It was he who threw me over, in obedience to my uncle's demand," I replied stiffly.

Jack narrowed his eyes and tapped his finger in the air to emphasize his point. "And that, love, should tell you all you need to know about James Norrington," was all he said.

As we worked our way through the bottle of rum, Jack's company put me at my ease and reminded me of younger days when our high spirits led us into all kinds of scrapes and mischief. The day wore on, our laughter grew more frequent, and our talk turned to his latest venture.

"I'm provisioning me ship, love," Jack informed me, handing over a torn and disreputable scrap of paper.

"Does your ship have a name?" I enquired, looking over his list.

"The _Black Pearl_," he said proudly, flourishing his wrist in the air. "I renamed her after overcoming a rather unique combination of perturbations, machinations, and complications that, if enumerated, might tend to strain credulity."

"Renamed her!" I was utterly shocked and alarmed. "Why did you do it? Everyone knows it brings bad luck to rename a ship!"

"Not to worry – all indications point to a staggering run of brilliant luck! It so happened that . . . well, it's actually a bit of a long story, darlin'. I suggest we save it for another day." He sat up straight and fixed me with a keen stare, waving his hands to illustrate. "My point is this: I have got the fastest, smartest ship in the Caribbean, and I'm off to pick up a crew and get meself a load of sparkly swag, savvy? Now," he rubbed his hands together and eyed the shelves. "Let's see what we've got here."

And off he went, darting here and there throughout the shop, stacking up medicines, instruments, herbs and opiates, popping up unexpectedly in corners to toss yet more items on the growing heap. I watched him thoughtfully, a bold idea taking shape in my mind.

Finally, I asked "And how are you paying for all of this?" Momentarily startled, he spun about to face me, coattails flying, and put his fingers to his chin in an attitude of thought.

"Ah, well, I'm a bit skint at the moment." The right side of his mouth curved into a toothy smile. 'How's me credit, darlin'?"

"Non-existent," I replied. Jack wrinkled his forehead and squinted in mock disbelief.

"What?" he exclaimed, as he swayed towards me, hands gesturing in amazement, "then you don't believe I'll be back with said coin when I've –"

"Don't try to gull me, Jack! You'll be off with the goods and I shall be gaoled and hanged for a thief!" I put down the list and made as if to return his purchases to the shelves. Jack stepped between me and the merchandise with all haste.

"Perhaps . . ." he suggested, waving me back with both hands, "perhaps, I could simply rob you, then?" Tentatively, he began to draw his pistol.

"No! There'll be no shooting up of the shop!" I protested. "You'll have the ceiling down on our heads!" Then I smiled at him. "But perhaps we can reach an accord. Tell me about your crew, Jack. Have you a First Mate yet?"

"I mean to pick one up in Tortuga," he replied with a wave of his hand. "At the moment, I have only enough crew to make passage from here to Tortuga, with perhaps one or two minor enterprises along the way."

I nodded and went on. "And a ship's carpenter?"

"Not yet," Jack answered. "I'll pick up one of them as well. It's on me list."

"Have you a ship's _doctor_?" I smiled brightly at him.

Jack gave me a sharp look. "Oh, no, no, no y' don't, lass! And not all ships have doctors–," he began, shaking his head, but I pressed on with my idea.

"You've just told me that I should have stayed on the _Misty Lady, _but if you take me along now, we _both_ benefit! You can take what you like from the shop, and I won't go to prison for it! I'll be free of Port Royal, and you'll have a ship's doctor. If you don't need a ship's doctor, well and good! You know the other sorts of skills I have. Let me use them, for pity's sake!" He hesitated, but began to shake his head again.

I renewed my petition in a torrent of words, before he could refuse me. "Jack, I beg you to listen! Don't you remember how close we were as children, and how I looked up to you? You were like a brother to me! You can't leave me in this cage – it'll be the death of me! I'm perishing to go back to sea again – I had almost resolved to run away to Tortuga in search of you!" I paused to take a breath, then offered what I hoped would persuade him.

"A proper ship's doctor will cost you dear, but I'll take the fewest shares in your enterprise," I said, tempting him.

Although surprised at my impassioned plea, he paused to reconsider my proposal, particularly my concession regarding the shares. "Well, I'm willing to take Rufus at his word that I could do worse for a ship's doctor. And I do recall you were a decent shot at times . . . and had a certain, mmm, fluid grace, I should say, with a sword," he said, making a rippling motion with his fingers. He concentrated upon the ceiling for a few moments, then asked in a business-like tone, "You can still swim and climb rigging, can you – not to hand a sail, but as a lookout?"

"Of course I can! And these mild seas are a baby's bathwater compared to home," I replied.

He gave me a knowing grin. "Of course, if you crew with me, I shall undertake to instruct you in anything you might want to know. That's to say . . . anything at all, savvy?" he said, leaning closer with his dazzling smile.

"Does that mean you'll take me with you, Jack?" I asked, daring to hope that I had convinced him.

"I never could say 'no' to a pretty face . . . and you know, darlin', now that you're older, it might just be that Fate means for us to . . . take things to the next level," he mused, eying me from head to toe and tapping his fingers upon his chin. I waited, holding my breath.

"Alright," he sighed at last. "I wager I'll live to regret this, but – do we have an accord?" He thrust out his hand.

"We have an accord," I replied joyously, as we shook hands.

We threw his provisions into sacks, and I fetched my meagre property from the back room. As we dragged the sacks down to the dock, I smiled up at the gulls flying on the sea air and blessed them as my freedom-loving brethren.

* * *

Next: Chapter 3 - In which Jack instructs Nina in the honourable trade of piracy.


	3. A Pirate's Life

**Disclaimer:** I have no claim whatsoever to any part of the Pirates of the Caribbean franchise. The original characters and original plots are owned by me.

**A Pirate's Life**

"All hands! Step lively! She's at it again!" I heard Jack call out in mock alarm, as I emerged from the hatchway carrying several cabbages. There were only a few men on the _Pearl's_ main deck still finishing their morning's work, and they scrambled out of my way. I approached a capstan and positioned one of the cabbages securely upon it.

Drawing my scimitar from its scabbard, I took aim, and then swung the weapon suddenly from over my shoulder in a great, sweeping arc. I brought the blade straight through the side of the cabbage, making an equatorial cut. I inspected the result, set up a second cabbage on the capstan, and continued my exercises.

We had been a few weeks out to sea on the _Pearl_, with barely enough crew to sail her, looking for vessels to pillage. Although we took her out near the "roads" most frequented, we had only discovered three ships, all of which had already been pillaged and ransomed. In the interim, I took every opportunity to practise my weapons skills, which had languished during my stay in Port Royal. From the quarterdeck, Jack watched the proceedings for awhile; then he descended to the main deck.

"Remind me to stay out of the galley if you're cooking, love," he said, waving his fingers at the scimitar as he sauntered past. "Quite a lovely swing you've got there." Then he stopped, turning quickly back to face me, dismayed. "I suppose it's cabbage for supper, then? Again?"

"I thought you liked cabbage," I said, knitting my brows. "In any case, I need to keep up my skills. It's remarkable what can be done with a properly honed blade." I turned the hilt backwards, and, with the sword's blunt edge resting against my arm, proceeded to slice the cabbage to shreds. Jack crouched down so that his black-rimmed eyes were level with the top of the capstan, the better to watch my efforts.

"Nice close work, too," he added. Then he frowned, tapping his fingers against his chin. "Should I be searching for a merchant ship with more vegetables?"

Our stores needed replenishing, but as it turned out, Jack had a grander design in mind. He started towards the leeward rail, nodding his head to indicate I should follow him. He leaned back against the rail, propping himself on his elbows, and began to tell me more of his most cherished project.

"All I need is to get a good cargo of provisions and enough swag to sign on more crew – lots more crew – and we'll be ready to chase the really big prize," he glanced around and lowered his voice. "The Chest of Cortez!"

I looked questioningly at him. "What sort of a ship might she be with a name like that?" I asked.

Jack sighed with exasperation and turned his eyes heavenward. "You're wanted in the captain's quarters, you are," he announced, grabbing my wrist.

He steered me to his quarters and shut the door. "Not a _ship_, love," he said carefully, speaking slowly so that I would miss not a word. "It's a _trove_." His dark eyes positively shone with anticipation, and he gestured with both hands for emphasis. "A lovely, sparkly trove of eight hundred and eight-two gold pieces – medallions, actually – they're said to be huge! Ransom paid by the Aztecs to stop the infamous Cortez from slaughtering 'em; but he was so bloodthirsty that he took the gold and pressed on with the slaughter, golden ransom notwithstanding!" He threw an arm about my shoulders and conducted me to his chart table.

"It's reputed to be hidden on the Isla de Muerta. But you can stow these charts," he said, laying his hand across the maps on the table. "You won't find it on any of 'em. It can only be found by someone who's been there, savvy? And that's – no one." He paused dramatically.

"It doesn't sound very . . . attainable," I said, tentatively. I was no stranger to Jack's eccentric taste in adventure, but this sounded like a game of blind man's buff.

"Can't be any worse than chasing ships what have already been plundered, now, can it?" he countered, tilting his head and coaxing me with a grin.

"At least we know where the ships are," I reminded him. "How do you intend to discover this island that no one can find?"

"Ah, that's the crux of the matter, innit? But you leave that bit to me – I've got it sorted. I have the bearings right here – look!" He set down his compass, but I backed away from the table.

"No, don't show me; not if you really have them!" I urged him, averting my eyes. "Keep them to yourself, just as my father would treat his dispatches! The world is full of rogues that would carve us up in an instant to get their hands on that information!"

Jack narrowed his eyes and nodded approvingly. "I see Rufus has put his stamp on you," he said, wagging his finger at me. "And just as well! By all means, we'll be cautious, but it's only the two of us at the moment. However, just as you like." He picked up the compass.

"Now, Captain Jack Sparrow will teach you some pirating, love. Before we set out on a venture like this, we've a bit of business to attend to." He placed a scrap of parchment on the table and, taking a piece of charcoal in hand, began to explain his design. "I've got the bearing, but not the distance, meanin' I don't know whether it's near or far. So, _ergo_, Q.E.D., and _ipso facto_, before setting out, I need money and goods to provision the _Pearl_ and more crew to help carry the swag and defend the ship." He glanced at me to make certain I was following him.

I nodded, eyes fixed upon the parchment.

"Right, then." He drew a shape like a quarter-moon. "Not seven miles from here lies an island with the unlikely name of Buena Suerte. In here," indicating the inner curve of the moon-shape, "there be shallows, savvy? Many a crew careen their ship here for an easy cleaning and leave their goods aboard. We'll come up here," pointing to the moon's tip, "anchor off the shallows, and I'll lead the boarding party. I want you to stay aboard the _Pearl_."

He took a deep breath and grasped me sternly by the arms, staring deeply into my eyes. "Just remember; I'm trustin' you with me ship."

"And then we relieve them of their goods, money, weapons and effects, and give 'em our heels before they can right their ship and take after us?" I asked eagerly.

He smiled his bright, pirate smile. "You've twigged it. I can see you have a strong natural turn for this line of work. And then it's on to Tortuga and a full crew. And after that? Gold! More than you've ever dreamed of!"

As he spoke, he looked keenly into my eyes. "By the by, darlin', I've been meaning to instruct you on something." Seeing my look of uncertainty and apprehension as he moved closer to my face, he chuckled. "Oh, not that – I'm speaking about your eyes." He touched the skin just under my eyes with a very dirty forefinger.

"You should be rubbin' kohl – or _surme_ I think you say in Turkish – all round your eyes and in your eyelashes as well, like me," he said confidently, rummaging through his pockets.

"I don't know that it would suit my appearance," I mumbled, reluctant to embrace such a sooty-eyed look.

"Ahhh! But it ain't for looks," he replied, producing a tiny glass jar with a sealed stopper, which he uncorked. "It's medicinal! And it protects you from curses," he added in a low voice. "Makes your eyes stronger, helps against the sun – which you need, savvy?"

Jack dabbed his finger in the sticky, cindery paste, and swiped it across my right eye before I could stop him. He grinned at me charmingly, gold teeth sparkling below his moustache. "Best let me finish now," he said with a laugh. "Or you'll look like someone gave you a right banger."

I stood still as he applied more _surme_, and blinked away the tiny grains that dropped into my eyes. "There!" he exclaimed, very pleased with his work. He took my hand and pressed the little jar into my palm. "Now, don't let me catch you without your eyes properly done up," he warned, pointing his finger at me.

"You should have had a booth at the last Michaelmas Fair," I told him. "You'd have made your fortune and no mistake." Then I thanked him and made for my cabin, where I inspected his handiwork and wiped away as much as I dared whilst leaving enough to satisfy him that he had set me straight on the merits of _surme_.

The next morning we weighed at dawn and made our way to Buena Suerte in time to catch low tide, which is the only time a prudent captain will careen his ship. To our great delight, a ship was indeed careened in the shallows. We could see several longboats upon the island, although there was no sign of the crew, with the exception of, perhaps, five or six seamen who were cleaning the hull.

"Right, then," Jack exclaimed. "Make ready the guns! Raise the colours! Lower the starboard anchor! To the boats – prepare to lower away!"

As I oversaw the anchoring of the _Pearl_, and the readying of the cannon, Jack and the men went forth to take the ship's stores and goods. Though we showed them our colours, we did not give them a broadside: with our cannons trained upon their hull, they struck at once.

All went smoothly as we began to load the _Pearl_ with our plunder. We took some gallons of rum, a chest of medicine, a large quantity of ammunition, eight barrels of flour, two barrels of pork, some bacon, some barrels of rice, gold dust, chains and trinkets of some value, two barrels of green apples, a hogshead of molasses, and ten chests of sugar.

As Jack climbed aboard, he threw a large black cloth onto the deck. I unfurled it to see pirate colours, with two crossed swords on a field of black. "We'd best make this quick and avoid an embarrassing moment," said Jack. "Looks as if it's not a merchant ship, don'it?"

He took the boats over again, and once more they returned loaded with cargo; however, there was a sudden development.

A great clamor of voices came from the island, and the beach filled with angry pirates, swarming the longboats so as to return to their vessel and join the fight. The crew cleaning the hull also showed a new ferocity, and some of them made to board the _Pearl_. We drew our weapons and met them at the railing.

I pulled my scimitar from its scabbard and charged my opponents. Constant movement and turns helped me dodge their attacks as I swung my blade. Then, holding the scimitar flat along my arm from wrist to elbow, I would swiftly move inside their attacks, so close that they had no room to parry and I could cut the weapons from their hands with quick, slicing motions of my blade arm. Yet, even though we managed to prevent them from getting on to the deck, it was plain that their numbers would increase mightily as more of the ruffians made their way back from the island.

From the corner of my eye, I saw our lads were having some trouble with the anchor rode, which kept us from departing. To make matters worse, the tide had now begun to rise, so that the other ship would eventually come off the shallows and engage us. As more pirates tried to board us, the rest worked frantically to right their ship. I caught Jack's eye, and he nodded me towards the hatch, where our cannons lay ready with fuses already primed.

I ran to the gun deck and lit two fuses, and a moment later, with a load roar, the _Pearl_'s guns blew two great smoking holes in the other ship's hull. Angry shouts issued from her crew, but Jack had succeeded in releasing the rode, our anchor came flying up to the cathead, and we sailed off, cheering and laughing, before they could mount a pursuit.

"Turn and turn about," remarked Jack. "Unless I miss my guess, that's the ship that made off with the goods from the two Dutchmen and the Portuguese that we discovered earlier. We'll make a good market in Tortuga, and I'll be back with more crew in no time." He gave me an appraising glance, taking in the brightness in my eye and flush of color in my cheeks caused by the excitement of our battle. "And I think I shall want you to keep to the _Pearl_ and leave me to manage things ashore."

Happy to be spared the excesses of Tortuga, I readily agreed. Had I insisted upon going ashore, events might have unfolded differently.

With Jack in Tortuga, life aboard the_ Pearl_ became dull and quiet. I spent much of my time looking out across the water, hoping to see him returning from his venture. One day as I stood gazing, I heard a voice hail me by my alias.

"Ahoy! Miss Boscawen!" our lookout called down, descending from the rigging. A gentle, quiet-spoken fellow from the Isle of Man, "Bootstrap" Bill Turner was an amiable soul who lacked the rough, unpredictable temperament of most pirates. He was as bereft of company as I was, and we struck up a conversation.

Bootstrap told me a bit of his history, but chiefly spoke of his longing to return to his home, where his wife and infant son awaited him. Perceiving some trace of sorrow in my manner, he asked me if I, too, missed my home at times, and longed to return to it. His innocent question brought a lump to my throat, and a great desire to unburden myself of my fears.

"My home only exists in my heart and memories now," I confided. "It was a place filled with love, friends, and kindness. Being only a child, I took it as certain that things would ever be thus, until highwaymen took my father's life. I was left to suffer the mercies of a monster – my own uncle. It was a matter of escape or death." I shivered, even in the hot tropical sun. "I chose escape."

Bootstrap's face showed sincere concern. "Ye mustn't vex yerself so," he said. "You escaped. Whatever cruelties you suffered, the future may yet bring fair winds and followin' seas."

"I wish I believed it true; but worse than the past is the fear of what may yet be," I replied miserably. "I have never told anyone – not even Jack knows all I've endured – but there is yet a price on my head. My uncle was not a man to countenance defiance. After I escaped and hid with the gypsies, I heard that he had offered a fortune in gold to anyone who captured me. I left their camp rather than wait for that temptation to do its work on my friends." Anxiety made my chest tighten, and I drew my hand across my eyes.

"Even the name you call me by is not my own," I confessed. "I'm so very afraid that he will find me out, even in the Caribbean."

"Ah, miss, we're a long ways from home out here. Just a wee speck in a vast ocean," Bootstrap said in a soothing voice. "He'll not discover ye this far away."

I seized upon his words as desperately as any drowning swimmer lays hold of a lifeline. "You comfort me, Bootstrap," I said in a steadier voice. "May it be that I've passed through all my troubles! But please keep my secret for now – I didn't mean to burden you, but you have such a kindly face, and I can't help but trust you as Jack does."

Bootstrap nodded and patted my hand. "Ay, I'll keep your secret safe, miss. And don't tell anyone your true name, not whoever Jack brings from Tortuga – no, not even me. You can just go by 'Nina' – same as I go by 'Bootstrap', and most don't even know me as William Turner." I thanked him as he made ready to return to his post.

"Me an' Jack'll protect you, miss," he assured me.

* * *

Next: Chapter 4 - Mr Barbossa - In which the new crew arrive, and life aboard the _Pearl_ undergoes a fateful change.


	4. Mister Barbossa

**Disclaimer:** I have no claim whatsoever to any part of the Pirates of the Caribbean franchise. The original characters and original plots are owned by me.

* * *

**Mister Barbossa**

After an absence of some days, Jack returned to the _Pearl_ mightily pleased with the new crew that had signed on in Tortuga. I stared as they boarded us, thinking them a rough and dangerous lot, but trusting that under Jack's command, they would not prove utterly ungovernable.

As I watched, I heard a sudden angry squeal, and a mangy little monkey, all fangs, fur and claws, jumped over the railing. It bared its teeth in a grin of rage as if it would bite me, then turned and fled up the nearest shroud, chattering all the while. I sought out Jack at once.

"Please tell me that I only dreamt I was nearly attacked by a wild monkey just now?" I asked him.

Jack squinted, finger to his lips, trying to remember. "Ay!" he said as the light dawned. "That would be the new ship's monkey." His words were a bit slurred, and I could see that negotiations in Tortuga had involved a good amount of rum. "The crew insisted on it. We need to give him a name."

"I see. What about 'Anathema'? At once classical and expressive," I suggested, with as much sarcasm as I could muster.

"Too long; though I do see your point," Jack replied sympathetically. "Never mind, then; he'll likely stay up in the rigging. You'll not even know he's aboard, love. Belongs to our new First Mate, actually; he'll have to manage the pestiferous little . . . pest."

"The First Mate signed on and brought that little monster with him? What sort of a –," I began, but Jack put his hand over my mouth for an instant.

"Shh! That's him," he said under his breath, facing me but turning his eyes towards the rail as I followed his gaze.

Our new First Mate was just stepping on deck from the ladder. There was something so striking, so ominous in his appearance that my gaze was instantly fixated. Some sixth sense in me was alarmed, though I was not able to say why. _He's_ _come down in the world_, I thought. The shirt and breeches that looked unremarkable on the rest of the crew seemed mean and shabby on his rangy frame, as if it had been part of some grander ensemble in the past, and he wore no hat over his dirty green headscarf.

Mr Barbossa was taller than any man on board the _Pearl_, and his bearing had a proud and magisterial air. In spite of this, his grim, scarred face, scruffily braided hair, and limping stride told of a man who had lived rough over many hard years. As he placed his hands on the rails, I noticed the numerous cuts and tar deposits that mark the seaman's hands, yet his long, discoloured nails were surely not those of a deck hand. I stood transfixed by this apparition, unable to move, until, sensing my stare, he turned his head in my direction. I quickly turned my face away, embarrassed and alarmed. Too late, I realised that he might perceive this as an insult; the damage was done.

I drew Jack away to the other side of the deck. "What made you choose that man for First Mate?" I whispered, trying to avoid being overheard. "There's some danger afoot – I can feel it! Be wary of him. Look how the other ruffians show him the respect of old cronies," I added.

"Nina, Nina, girl," Jack put an arm around my shoulders. "We're _all_ pirates here! All rogues and ruffians! Remember? I met him over a bottle of rum in…" he waved his arm, not able to recall the tavern, "The Bag o' Nails, or The Queen's Arms, or perhaps her legs . . . one of those establishments. And of course he knows 'em – that's how he signed 'em on in no time at all! He says they're all men of good experience. And you've got to focus on this: I'm the only one who knows where we're bound. What's in it for them to do, other than pitch in? I've promised 'em all equal shares," he said grandly, "You can't say fairer than that, can you?"

"Promise me that you'll give away no information on the bearings?" I begged him. Nature was sounding every alarm in my being, and my stomach was hollow and tight.

"I absolutely, solemnly, categorically and truthfully do promise you," said Jack. And I truly believed he meant it when he spoke the words.

Within the first hour of our expedition, the crew of the _Black Pearl_ voted Mr Barbossa their quartermaster. This increased my unease, but the election of a quartermaster is a privilege jealously guarded by the crew, and there was nothing to be done.

From the very instant we set out, I noticed that Mr Barbossa would stare at me unpleasantly from under his heavy eyelids if I chanced to pass him on deck, and I often sensed him looking down at me from the quarterdeck. His eyes, which were long and hooded, gave him the appearance of a sleepy lynx, and his face wore an impassive, unreadable expression. When arguing or making a point, however, he would lift his eyebrows and widen his eyes, which became expressive and dramatic, and it was then that one could see the true intelligence, cunning and ferocity of the man. I tried to disguise my dislike of him, although our antagonism was obvious. Jack gamely attempted to quell the tension, but his efforts were all for naught.

As is customary, Jack and I took our meals in the captain's quarters; now we would be three at table – joined by our new quartermaster. As I entered for our noonday meal, Jack and Mr Barbossa rose to greet me. Jack introduced me as the ship's surgeon, to which Mr Barbossa responded with a sceptical smirk.

"Well, yer marvellous young and fair t' be sawin' limbs and dressin' wounds, an' ye a mere slip of a thing," he remarked, with the exaggerated courtesy of one tolerating a preposterous _boutade_. "What be yer name, Miss-?"

"Nina," I replied, avoiding his eyes.

Then there was silence.

"Far be it from me t' make awkward inquiries of a fine lady," Barbossa continued after a moment. "Is the matter of yer surname an awkward question?"

I could feel the beginnings of irritation turning my face rosy. "'Nina' will do," I said to my plate.

Barbossa smiled coldly and shrugged, "Well, Nina, if you'll take the advice of an old seadog, ye should always carry yer weapons, and not leave 'em in yer cabin. That's part of me duties as quartermaster – makin' sure we're always at the ready for close fightin'. And I mean t' be a good quartermaster," he added unctuously, for Jack's benefit.

Then he turned his attention to matters of business with Jack. He had written out a list of the crew, signed by himself as quartermaster, and he seemed to want more signed articles and documents in place for our expedition.

"I'm only proposin' this fer the common good, y' know," Barbossa was saying, smoothly. "Ambition be the darling passion of men, and havin' the crew sign articles will guard against any who would forget that they agreed t' partic'lar terms."

"If they are so vile and cowardly as to change their vote, I don't see how a scrap of paper will stop them," I interjected.

Barbossa looked annoyed, but was clearly unwilling to begin a dispute. "Ah, well, the little maid has a point," he remarked, with smiling condescension, "although seein' as gentlemen of fortune are generally known for boldness, I might not be inclined t' ascribe 'em cowardly motives. Leavin' the articles aside, what about me other proposals?"

He poured more rum for himself and Jack, turning his back to me. "It's a way of providin' against misfortunes in the voyage, seein' as we're all equal partners here, accordin' t' yer own words."

"And so we are; but . . . what misfortunes? We're under a fair wind, with good weather and our course is straight and true," replied Jack with a puzzled stare.

"It'd be unlikely we could anticipate all the perils we may face," answered Barbossa in a solicitous tone, "But if anything should happen, through fallin' a-foul of a ship o' war, or any mishap that leaves ye unable t' guide us, it ain't that the prize'll be lost t' m'self alone, but t' all the crew and yer friend" – his tone showed clearly that the friend was myself – "unless we provide against it. I'm proposin' that we agree three things: a course which is known t' the both of us, a way t' secure the gold under seal so it'll be fairly shared out t' all at the right time, and a rendezvous point, in case of separation. I'm only tryin' t' act as yer partner. What d' ye say, Captain? Will ye trust in me? Do we have an accord?"

Jack studied his tankard with a frown, and I held my breath, not daring to speak. "Well,' he said at last, avoiding my glare, "It does seem like a seasonable proposal. Alright. Yes, we have an accord."

And there was nothing I could do. Jack gave him the bearings, which Barbossa noted carefully. The quartermaster then poured all our cups full and proposed a toast to our success. I took a sip of the drink, and excused myself. My heart was sick with foreboding and I made for my cabin, certain that treachery would follow, as consequent to Mr Barbossa's words as a shadow to the gnomon of a sundial.

The next day, Jack remarked to me that everything was running smoothly aboard ship, and that I should try to have more confidence in Mr Barbossa. All indications were that we would have a mightily successful, memorable voyage. "The stuff of legend, love," as he put it. However, Mr Barbossa's attitude had taken a more imperious turn as his power had increased and he lost no time in making known his opinion of me.

Indeed, that very morning, I was standing on the quarterdeck when Jack, having given the helm to Mr Barbossa, said, "You can ease her off a point or two."

Barbossa kept his eyes on the horizon and continued to point up the ship.

Annoyed for Jack's sake, I remarked, "I _thought_ I heard the Captain say to ease her off."

With an ugly laugh, Barbossa called out sarcastically, "Avast, ye dirty dogs! Pretty Nina has a _thought_!" General laughter followed this announcement, and the quartermaster grinned with enjoyment. "And what be yer thought, me dear?"

"My thought is that you should obey your captain's order," I snapped, my temper flaring.

"And mine is that ye should learn t' govern yer tongue. A quartermaster may countermand a captain's order – or didn't ye know that, milady?" He flashed a look of malicious triumph.

Hot with fury, I stepped forward to confront him, and we both realised Jack was standing abeam of us, attempting to intervene.

Seeing us both glare at him, Jack tried mediation. "Ah! Well! I see you two are . . . working through your differences. So. Ah . . . what if we just . . . give you both a moment, eh?"

To Barbossa, he said "Good man, Barbossa! Good man!" Pointing to me, he said, "Good — ah . . . good Nina!" and retreated from our confrontation.

Not for the first time, my temper got the better of me. "Do you imagine, Mr Barbossa, that I don't see you assessing the _Pearl_ for your own designs? Testing how close to the wind she'll sail, how well, how quick she goes, and what sort of a prize she must make? As for me, I stand with the Captain on all matters, and I care not a fig for your insults and gibes!"

"Don't test me, missy," he snarled. "Ye'll learn more about our Code than you'd like, an' we can start with the rules fer settlin' disputes with unruly crew."

"Oh, I daresay! Taken ashore for a duel with pistols and swords, as I recall? Do your worst – I am ready for you!"

My rash words poured out before I could stop them; there was no doubt my blood was up. As luck would have it and before my folly could overtake me, our forward lookout called out that a ship had hove in view, and both captain and quartermaster made haste to discover what kind she might be.

"She's officered and armed like a man of war," said Jack to Barbossa. "Put most of the crew in the hold, and let's hope she stands off and takes us for a merchant vessel."

Barbossa nodded and ordered us below deck, but with weapons at the ready. We were stifled in the heat, but kept quiet to see if our unwelcome guest would pass us by. At length, she drew up close to the _Pearl_, and poured on a broadside. As her guns blew holes in our hull, the air around us was filled with smoke, shot and flying debris of every description.

Amid the shouts coming from the deck, I could hear the grapples landing as she prepared to board us. We charged out of the hatchways with weapons drawn and fell upon her men, and the fighting was as hot as the gunfire was deafening. The men seemed to be other pirates who had made a prize of the ship, and were trying our strength, but in the end it became clear that they lacked the courage and resolve of our crew when it came to close quarters.

Two men who were both fighting Jack and getting the worst of it suddenly drew their pistols and fired wildly at him before retreating below their own deck to escape us. This so enraged me that I pursued them back to their ship, shouting for them to keep the deck and fight like men. When they didn't answer, I discharged my pistols at them through the hatchway and drew my scimitar.

At that moment, a heavy hand grasped my shoulder and Mr Barbossa roughly ordered me back to the _Pearl_. The ship had called for quarter and now only wanted to make her escape.

I stepped back on board the _Pearl, _followed by our grim-faced quartermaster. Jack pulled me aside as he called out his orders to Mr Barbossa, "See to the _Pearl_, sir! See to the men!"

"Ay, Cap'n!" replied Mr Barbossa smartly. And he began to give orders to the crew in an efficient and practised manner that I would have found admirable and confidence-inspiring, save for his odious personality. The crew fell to work at once, and began clearing about a dozen wounded from the deck, sounding the ship to discover where the damage lay, removing debris, and taking up the bodies of the men who had fallen, which numbered, as I recall, around the same as the number of wounded.

I marvelled grudgingly at this expert deployment of the crew, and started to make for the surgery to use my skills as best I could; but Jack turned to me with a worried frown. "Where's the, ah . . . ?" he indicated his neck.

I felt round my neck and gasped, realising that my locket had gone. I patted every seam and fold of my clothes frantically, hoping it had somehow caught in my sleeve or waistband, but no trace of it remained.

"I expect you lost it in the heat of the fight," Jack explained, studying my throat. "There's a mark just here where someone's sword or knife point must have struck it off accidental-like. Sorry, love; better the locket than yer head, y' know."

He knitted his brows and gave me a consoling smile, but there was no comforting me. I went below deck to the surgery, treating the wounded with adequate care, but with a near-total absence of true concentration. I was desolate. The only remembrance of my father's face was lost – either sailing away from me on the man of war, or flung to the bottom of the sea.

* * *

Next: Chapter 5 - Mutiny - In which the _Pearl_ gains a new captain, and Nina employs an unusual skill.


	5. Mutiny

**Disclaimer:** I have no claim whatsoever to any part of the Pirates of the Caribbean franchise. The original characters and original plots are owned by me.

* * *

**Mutiny**

On our third day out, the _Pearl_ was unusually quiet. Jack was nowhere to be seen, but Mr Barbossa stood on the quarterdeck supervising a contingent of about twenty crew that were sweeping the main deck. I tried to avoid them as I walked about the area, preoccupied, my eyes scanning each corner and hole in the planks, as I searched for any trace of my locket.

I stopped in front of one particular seaman who was on his knees, using the end of an iron file to pick some lead shot out of the splintered deck. Bootstrap stopped his work and looked up at me warily. "'Mornin', miss," he said, with a quick nod.

"Good morning, Bootstrap," I replied. "By chance do you recall the locket I always wore? If you should see any sign of it, you'll let me know straightaway, won't you, please?" Even as I spoke to him, I chastised myself for tasking him unreasonably. _Why not ask him to search a haystack and bring you a needle? It's gone; gone forever_, I thought.

Bootstrap looked back down at the deck, but stopped digging at the lead. Head lowered, he answered quietly, "Are ye certain t' were lost? Not . . . taken, or aught like that?"

"What do you mean? Do you have some knowledge of this?" Startled, I pressed him.

Again, he kept his voice down as he responded. "Can't be sure. Only, as I were fightin' near the mizzenmast yesterday, I saw—"

"Get t' work, ye sad-faced dog!" Mr Barbossa shouted, as he strode over to us. The quartermaster stood looking at each of us in turn, as Bootstrap stared down at the deck like a whipped cur.

"And as fer you," Barbossa continued, addressing me, "I'll thank ye t' belay yer idle woman's chatter when me crew are finishin' their tasks."

"I was enquiring after my locket," I retorted. "Bootstrap said he might have seen something."

Barbossa raised his eyebrows and turned his cold eyes upon Bootstrap. "Did ye, now? Well, then, tell missy what ye seen, by God. There be no secrets between me an' me crew; I'm all ears."

Bootstrap shook his head, and then looked up at me. "Nothin', miss. I hope ye find it." He went back to his work.

Barbossa regarded me with a thoughtful expression, followed by a look intended to convey sympathy. "Sorry about yer trinket," he offered in a conciliatory tone. "And whose likeness was it that ye treasured so?"

"My father's," I answered, distracted as I tried to think where else I might search for it. He nodded, then turned on his heel and ascended to the quarterdeck, without one further word.

I returned to my cabin, which I searched for the third time. Next, I wandered to the captain's quarters, where I found Jack studying his charts. I took a chair near the table, lost in thought. Jack could see my distress, and gave me a questioning look.

"It isn't anywhere," I said.

"Have you been all round the deck? Lots of crannies it might be stuck in," he suggested.

"I've been chased off the deck," I replied. There was no need to say by whom.

"Ah, well," Jack said, considering for a moment, "You're always welcome here – why not keep me company for a bit?" He smiled. "Pour yourself a tot and wait for inspiration, eh?"

I returned his smile, despite my low spirits, and he kindly let me spend the remainder of the afternoon watching him work and occasionally conversing.

"Don't give up, love," he encouraged me, as he put away his day's work. "It'll turn up just when least expected. It's always in the last place y' look, innit?" he said with a golden smile. "I'm told it'll be cod for supper, by the by. Cod, callaloo – and rum," he added, drinking a generous amount from his flask. "Care for a swig?"

I declined, having decided to undertake one more futile search of my cabin before our evening meal. Accordingly, I made my way back to my own door, and unlocked it.

As I stepped inside my cabin, I was startled by the sound of a monkey's screech, and the sight of none other than our First Mate and quartermaster, the dreadful Barbossa, lounging insolently on my very bed with the Messenger badge, scimitar, pistols and books arrayed on the blanket before him, and his wretched monkey scampering about on my possessions. No longer in the dress of an ordinary seaman, Barbossa looked a proper buccaneer, armed to the teeth, and attired in an ornate but moth-eaten waistcoat and coat, and a broad-brimmed hat with plumes that a Cavalier might have worn. My missing locket was in his hand.

_Ah, now I see your true colours,_ I thought as I stared incredulously at the locket's severed ribbon, _neatly done, Mr Barbossa, neatly done_. The baleful look in his pale blue eyes boded ill indeed for this extraordinary interview.

I reached for the door behind me, but stopped as he raised his pistol and pointed it at my face.

"Now then, we'll have none o' that, m'girl," he announced in his booming, gravelly voice. "Just ye step into the middle of this room. I have a matter o' business t' square with ye."

I complied.

"Left yer weapons in yer cabin again, eh? Even though I played fair with ye and warned ye against it."

He adjusted his posture, keeping the gun aimed at me, and held up the locket with his other hand. In smooth, cozening tones, he resumed. "Y' see, I wants ye t' take this in a friendly-like way, as it might be, but I'm anxious t' hear yer name."

"Yer real name – whole, and entire," he added, as I opened my mouth to reply.

Though cold with dread, I could not doubt that the game was up.

"Nina Houlton Bitter," I said.

"_Daughter_," he fairly spat out the word, "of the most avaricious liar an' infamous defiler of the King's Court, Lord Hanibal Bitter, lately Chief Justice of the Assizes – the worst hangin' judge since the Bloody Assizes."

"No! My father's name –" I began, but Barbossa's roar drowned out my words as he leapt to his feet.

"Do ye think ye can get acrost me, my fine lady? Do ye think Barbossa's a poor, simple pirate what can't read the man's own initials on this case and pistols, and see his cursed face in yer locket? Do ye think I'd forget the devil who sentenced me t' hang, these many years ago?"

He's going to kill me, and it's all a mistake, I thought. But his violent speech convinced me that he would instantly shoot me if I so much as opened my mouth.

He seemed to relish his own skill in the clever unmasking of my name, and proceeded to elucidate the details for my betterment, clearly reckoning me his dull-witted inferior. "First, I seen ye with Sparrow and his crew," he began, "When the _Pearl_ attacked m' ship at Buena Suerte, or did ye not know whose ship 'twas ye plundered and blew them holes through?"

I remembered the piratical flag Jack had dropped upon our deck at Buena Suerte. _Angels of heaven, _I thought,_ that's why the men were known to this man in Tortuga; they must be his crew. And now we're under sail with them_. My blood chilled in my veins, but Barbossa went on with his speech.

"Fancy – a young _lady_ fightin' us seadogs like she'd been instructed in it all her life!" He laughed, enjoying the thought. "Second, when we signed on t' the _Pearl_, I hears a bit of the West Country in yer voice, just like me, but ye want no one a-knowin' of yer name! And I see that Sparrow knows somethin' more of ye, but he keeps his own counsel, even from his quartermaster!"

He paused for a moment, and I kept my eyes upon my father's pistols, which I had put away primed. There was no room to swing the scimitar, even if I could grab it, but I thought if Barbossa gave me the slightest chance, I would try to seize one of the guns and fire upon him. He read my purpose, and chuckled as he moved both pistols out of my reach.

"Well," he continued, "I can keep me own counsel too, and no one the wiser. So yesterday, when we was attacked by the man o' war, and ye came over like a young tiger ready t' spring on 'em with a Turkish scimitar, by thunder, I determined t' know something more of ye. I seen the 'HB' on yer pistols and thought o' the old devil himself." He glared at the gilt "HB" stamped upon the case that held the Messenger badge, and I thought a muscle twitched in his jaw. Then he turned his flinty gaze back to me.

By this time, the strain of controlling my own fury was causing me to quiver; a reaction I hated, but one that had been common to me as long as I could remember. Barbossa's insulting half-grin told me he was certain I had lost my wits from sheer terror. He stood up and tossed the locket on the blanket with my other things.

"So," he concluded, "I took the opportunity t' relieve ye of yer trinket—yer father's likeness, by yer own words! And now I've discovered who ye are."

Suddenly there was a series of taps at the door, and a voice called "Cap'n Barbossa!"

Barbossa continued to stare at me, and answered stealthily, "Ay, mate! The watchword be '_arrack and rum_'." As he spoke, the monkey leapt upon his shoulder.

"_Captain_ Barbossa?" I wasn't certain I heard correctly. "You have no commission here –Jack is captain of the _Pearl_!"

"_Was_ – right up until he gave over the bearings t' Isla de Muerta," Barbossa laughed. "Now in exchange fer you a-tellin' of yer name, I'll tell ye a secret, which ye won't have t' keep for long: Sparrow will be leavin' the _Pearl_ shortly, y'see, and ye'll be followin' soon after. The rest of us are bound for Isla de Muerta, under my command."

"How can we leave the _Pearl_? We're three days out!" I was too astonished to grasp his meaning for a moment.

"Ah, now missy, I didn't say anything about land did I? But don't worry – Sparrow can swim t' a nice little island that's only missin' food, water and shelter. And ye won't have t' worry about swimmin' at all. A' course, that comes after I spend a bit o' time getting t' know ye!" With a grin, he pressed the icy muzzle of the pistol against my forehead.

Outside my door, there was a commotion of shouts and threats, followed by the familiar sound of Jack's footsteps, as he seemed to be pushed along by the mutinous crew.

Scooping up my possessions, Barbossa crossed to the door. "Rest assured, I'll be dealin' with ye soon," - again, the menacing grin - "I don't like t' keep a fine lady waitin', though many might have preferred it."

He shut the door behind him and I heard the key turn in the lock.

_There's no time to lose,_ my father would say, whenever he challenged me to put my skills to the test, _you must always act at once. Delay can be fatal._ I pulled myself together. Barbossa thought he had taken all my means of escape, but then I remembered the braid pinned in my hair.

As soon as the sound of his footsteps ceased in the passageway, I pulled a long hairpin from my braid and knelt at the locked door, blessing the singular education my father had seen fit to bestow upon me. When I felt the lock release, I cracked open the door and made sure none of the crew were about.

Noises from the deck near the mainmast pointed to some kind of raucous assembly; no doubt they were getting ready to heave Jack from the ship on the larboard side, by the sound of it. I crept down to the starboard side of the gun deck, my heart pounding violently, and seized a coil of rope as I went.

I crouched beside one of the guns and listened. I could hear Barbossa bellowing orders, _Heave to! Dowse canvas! Bring ship to anchor!_ and this was accompanied by a sudden yawing motion that told me the _Pearl _had come up into the wind. There was a commotion of confused sounds and voices as the sails were taken in and the _Pearl's_ anchors were heaved out. Another moment, and I felt the ship catch slightly as her rodes grew taut; she was now anchored securely. They were ready to throw Jack from the ship, and I would be the next order of business.

_Now,_ I thought, _before it's too late_.

Tying the rope around one of the guns, I fed the loose end out the nearest gun port. I pulled off my boots, climbed out on top of the cannon, and went down the rope and into the sea.

Once in the water, I spied an island close by; undoubtedly this was where they intended to maroon Jack. Then I heard a splash. After a moment, Jack bobbed to the surface about one hundred feet from my position and begin to swim for shore. Fearing discovery, I kept within the shadow of the _Pearl_ until they weighed anchor and began to bear off; then I started to swim to the island, following Jack and trying to keep my head above water.

To my relief, the pirates must have been so intent upon setting out for the treasure, they gave no sign of noticing the second swimmer making her way to relative safety. By the time I reached shore, the _Pearl_ was sailing downwind and making for the horizon.

* * *

Next: Chapter 6 - Intermezzo: Perambulans in Tenebris - A meditation on darkness of the night and the heart. Chapter warning: Strong T.


	6. Intermezzo: Perambulans in Tenebris

**Disclaimer:** I have no claim whatsoever to any part of the Pirates of the Caribbean franchise. The original characters and original plots are owned by me.

* * *

**Author's Note:** This chapter does not contain any graphic material that would require an M rating, but it is a very strong T. It contains vulgar language, is strongly suggestive and portrays some sex-related activity. It may be inappropriate for younger readers, so please use good judgment when deciding whether to read it or not and skip it if you prefer to avoid such subjects.

**Intermezzo: Perambulans In Tenebris**

_It is almost midnight, but he has been restless all evening. He tells himself that the cause is anger, and quite natural. Still, he glances up from his charts once more. The hairpin is exactly where it was five minutes ago, when he last gazed at it. His mouth tightens as he remembers. The walk to her cabin, after forcing Sparrow overboard. The door swinging slightly, the captive gone. His surprise – and displeasure. She has vanished, just as completely as if she had never existed. No, not quite; the pin winks at him, jammed into the keyhole. All evening it lies upon his table, glinting, taunting, distracting him from his work._

_He yawns and makes ready to retire for the night; snuffing out lantern and candles, removing his hat and coat, his weapons and waistcoat. He stretches out upon the bed. Sleep circles about like a wary cat prowling the room. He will permit himself a few hours of sleep thus: half-dressed and ready to act, should anything threaten the Pearl. All is in order; the ship's activity is muted, and he is weary._

_Once abed, however, sleep glides away to a far corner. He thinks of her again. _

_Is he thinking of a ghost? Is she dead, her glistening body, pale and cold as a reflection of the crescent moon, slipping along in the currents of the Caribbean? _

_What does it matter? There will be plenty of women in Tortuga, and he will have all the gold he needs to buy them. _

_Why spare a moment's thought for the one he can't buy?_

_She is a corpse tonight._

_Probably, perhaps, in all likelihood, yes. He shifts his position, uncertainly, calculating the odds. Yes, death is the favoured outcome. Unless. Could she be with him, Sparrow? He closes his eyes, but his mind's eye is not so easily tamed. A vivid, intimate picture springs to life; the girl, vulnerable and supple, clings to Sparrow with tender fingers. Sparrow's nimble hands unfasten her garments and slide, snake-like, beneath them. _

_He stirs uneasily, resentfully. Hanibal Bitter's daughter, by the gods! He recalls their confrontation; the fear in her eyes. Now Sparrow will play the hero, and she will fall into his arms. Such easy prey. He grimaces. Why did he not post a guard at her door? She'd be here with him at this moment. He would persuade her, force her, win her, and she would beg for his attentions._

_He allows himself another thought of her, and pictures Sparrow, edging closer . . . no. He twists his thoughts away. The two of them torment him, mocking his pride. From the moment he stepped aboard, he had despised the easy and obvious familiarity between them; a privilege denied him from her first shocked stare in his direction. She averted her eyes; she wanted nothing to do with him. He imagines Sparrow enjoying her smooth skin, her warm flesh. His mind settles on a pyrrhic consolation, and he grunts as he considers it: if she's with Sparrow, if she is even alive, it will be a final tryst before they starve on that godforsaken island._

_What does it matter? But it does._

_Sleepless, he moves his hand, silently acknowledging his desire. The urge becomes overwhelming. She calls to him, promising him. Sighing, he leaves his bed. He makes his way to the girl's cabin, speaking to no one. He lets himself into the dark room. Closing the door, he turns the key, hearing the click of the lock catching. _

_In the empty bed, her smiling phantom invites him with outstretched hand. _

_He loosens his breeches, sits upon the bed, and lies with face pressed to her pillow, breathing in the last traces of her. He clutches her pillow with one arm; the other reaches down his body. After a moment, he takes a corner of the bed-sheet, holding it as though it is her soft hand that he guides. "I'll teach ye," he mutters through clenched teeth. He presses it against himself. Her phantom murmurs, wanting him._

_"I'm goin' t' fuck ye now," he whispers into her shadowy ear. And her ghost responds; gasping, crying out his name, giving herself to him. His pulse quickens; his body strains with passion. Then he groans, and possesses her for one ecstatic interval, where time vanishes._

_For some moments afterward, he lies quietly; he holds the bed-clothes as though he can use them to conjure the shape of her body. At last, he rises from her bed, pulls himself together, and takes leave of his ghostly, imagined lover. He returns to his own bed. Sleep emerges silently from its corner, stretches, and leaps lightly upon his bed to welcome him._

* * *

Next: Chapter 7 - Marooned - In which two old friends contend with misfortune, and Jack tells an unexpected tale.


	7. Marooned

**Disclaimer:** I have no claim whatsoever to any part of the Pirates of the Caribbean franchise. The original characters and original plots are owned by me.

* * *

**Marooned**

I staggered up the beach after Jack, dripping wet and calling out in frustration to his retreating back.

"Well, _that_ was brilliant, wasn't it? Aren't we the favoured ones! Everything went along just _splendidly_ after you gave him the bearings – only _he's_ got all the splendour, along with everything else that wasn't nailed to the deck – no, I am in error! He's got the deck as well! And look at the state we're in now – no food, no water, and no rescue! _And_ he's _stolen my last possessions! _Now I've got nothing but the clothes I stand in! Am I leaving anything out? Yes, by heaven! He also promised to kill me - _after_ he could find time to return and use me for who-knows-what horrid acts! _And_ he'll get the treasure, _and_ he'll probably come straight back afterwards with his frightful men and hunt us down like animals, if we're not skeletons by then!"

By this time, Jack had disappeared into a stand of palm trees, and I sat down in the sand to catch my breath, head in my hands. "I _told_ you it was bad luck to give the ship a new name," I lamented.

I heard the soft scuffle of Jack's returning feet, and he sat down beside me. "Y' know, some might say it was havin' a woman on board that brought the bad luck," he observed.

I began to protest, but he held up his hand for silence. Handing me a few small, odd berries, he offered a ray of hope. "Perhaps smugglers use this island," he suggested. "It might be easy as Bob's-yer-uncle to get away."

"It has certainly been visited," I agreed, looking at the berries resignedly. "These are from a sugar palm from the East Indies, yet a stand of them is growing just over there – the really tall ones. They must have grown where the seeds fell, left here by a passing landing party."

Fascinated, I turned the fruit over in my hand, recalling its description in one of my botany books. "Unripened, it may be eaten when boiled with sugar, but the mature fruit is used to poison rabid dogs." Behind me, I heard the sound of Jack spitting something into the sand.

"I shall climb up and see if I catch sight of any vessels," I said. I stood up and brushed the sand off me, and we made our way to the stand of sugar palms. With some difficulty, I went up the trunk of the tallest palm and batted the fronds away from my head, peering in all directions for several minutes. Nothing broke the surface of the brilliant blue waters. "Not so much as a flying fish," I said, scrambling back down.

I turned to find Jack extending a bottle towards me. "Where on earth did that come from?" I asked.

"It calls to me, darlin'," he explained. "There's a big pit dug just over there under the poison palms, if you must know. Have a swig, then have some more swigs, and we'll make ourselves comfortable while we work out our next move."

I drank from the bottle, and was rewarded with the taste and warming fire of the rum. But as we sat on the sand and continued to drink, a melancholic turn of mind stole over me.

"I suppose I may as well die here," I sighed at last. "James would never return to me, in any event. Never, never, ever, ever…."

"And a fine young gentleman he was," Jack interjected, already opening his second bottle. "But don't you think you should perhaps, move on a bit? Just – you know – to try someone new, and more . . . piratical? I have been wondering if this is the opportune moment, when we take things to the next level." He moved closer.

"Ah, but James was . . . perfect. And now . . ." I couldn't say what I thought, that he would only feel pity – or even revulsion. I recalled his noble face, his skill with sword and pistol, and the warm glow of pride I felt at balls and fests, when James would lead me gracefully through the most intricate dance figures. "I would have been Nina Norrington – doesn't that sound lovely?" I sighed.

"Yes, lovely indeed!" Jack replied, unconvincingly. "Although, as I say, I think you should view this as a chance for a bit of a change. Perhaps, someone known to you for, oh . . . years. How long were you engaged to this paragon?" he asked.

"A year," I replied.

"Well, there you are, then! Time for a change, savvy?" He smiled at me, a gleam in his eyes.

All at once, I realised what he was suggesting.

"Oh, Jack! You truly are my dearest, greatest old friend!" I laughed in spite of my troubles, "You're just the same as when we were children. You haven't changed a bit, really."

"Oh, yes, I have. There's been many a change indeed, as you shall see! Now, if you'll allow me . . ." He began to move closer, encircling my neck with his arm.

"No!" Momentarily panic-stricken, I ducked out from under his rather too-warm embrace. "I couldn't! Truly, Jack! Think of our fathers!" I exclaimed, hoping to distract him.

"Don't see why they'd object . . ." he murmured, leaning forward and breathing in my face.

"Then think of that wretched Barbossa and his men getting all your sparkly swag!" At this, he sighed and ceased his advances, to my infinite relief.

"Well, I wasn't going to mention it, but the gold _is_ cursed, y' know." He took another swallow of rum and gave me a speculative look. "Tell you what, darlin', if we're NOT taking it to the next level, then help me build a fire, and I'll give you the tale."

Jack opened his damp tinderbox and placed it where the breeze and the late afternoon sun could dry it. Then, we collected a mass of dried palm fronds, of which there seemed to be an unending supply, and some rotten timbers from debris along the shore. "Let's have a bit of that dried seaweed," he said, pointing towards the high tide mark on the sand. I fetched a large bundle of dried vegetation for him, and we made a great pile of wood and branches.

Jack crouched down with flint and steel in his hands. "It would seem," he began, as he worked over his flint, "That the Aztec gods took a dislike to the way Cortez had helped himself to the gold, and then killed all the Aztecs in spite of it. I suppose you might say . . . he didn't honour the accord."

He stood up, as a most welcome flame took hold of the tinder. "Therefore, said gods placed a curse on his treasure: eternal punishment for anyone who took even a single piece of it." Jack had got quite a respectable fire burning, and he brushed the sand from his hands before rejoining me. "So you see, love, it may all be for the best. Of course, I wasn't inclined to take it seriously at first, but mind you, if it's true. . . ."

"That's it? 'Eternal punishment'?" I asked, very disappointed. "Why, it might be anything, mightn't it? Can't you be a bit more specific?" I was eager for details that would supply my imagination with images of the curse working on the mutineers.

"Well, it would be punishment enough for me, knowin' the gold was no use to me because of the curse," he suggested, as we watched the bright yellow flames rise into the evening sky.

"How can one not be able to use gold? To say nothing of the fact that I don't believe in curses and such," I remarked, feeling that this was cold comfort indeed.

Jack laughed softly to himself. "No? Funny, I thought it was you who pointed out that renaming a ship was bad luck. No matter; if it _is_ true, there'll be the devil to pay."

"Good!" I declared. "I hope they all pay for their villainy, and Barbossa's at the top of the list. From the moment he stepped foot on deck – even before he took the _Pearl_ and tried to kill us – that scoundrel was unbearable, with his swaggering insults!"

"Ah! Well, there you are, then! Clearly, said scoundrel's mad about you!" he said with a smirk, knowing precisely how to goad my temper.

I ignored his attempt at provocation. "I want my things back. I want him to pay for this. I've done with suffering at the hands of blackguards and rascals. I don't care how long it takes, or what I must do – I will _not_ let this cutthroat be victorious over the field."

"Hear, hear! Spoken like your father, love," Jack replied, lifting the bottle once more. "As for me, I may have only one shot in this damp and squibby pistol, but I'm saving it for him. I'll dry it out, and keep looking for him and the _Pearl_, and one day . . . I'll get square with Barbossa for this, I do solemnly promise you." He thought for a moment. "Perhaps we should visit Tia Dalma when we get off this pig of an island."

"Who is that?" I asked.

"So your father never told you . . . Those Messengers don't half keep secrets, do they," he remarked, and I could see that he was weighing how much to say. "Never mind, then, darlin', the critical point is that she's someone who might help you get what you want. Got anything to barter?" I shook my head.

Jack considered this obstacle. "Still," he decided, "You might not need it – _if _she decides to help you. And she might do."

Staring at the fire, his conversation drifted to our childhood days together. "Not as nice as the fires at the gypsy camp, eh? I remember you and the other girls in the firelight, laughin' and dancin', all the jingly gold belts and such."

"Yes; it was a fine and lovely time, wasn't it?" I replied, thinking that even Jack did not know all that had happened to me since then.

"Did you know you was born in a camp much like that one? Not in Cornwall – it was in the Carpathians. Your father was on the King's errand, and your mum went with him and had her first little 'un in a gypsy camp, of all places. Never told you that either, did he?" My shocked look confirmed that he had not.

"Well, things took an unexpected turn, and you were brought back on the _Misty Lady_. Your mum made it back as well, but . . ." he shook his head. "It was left to Captain Harry to raise you."

"It seems there's much I don't know about my family," I said, thinking of the villainous uncle whose existence had also been unknown to me. "Can't you tell me more?"

He was silent for awhile before replying. "Nah, love; you can't be troubled by what you never knew. Don't go lookin'."

Jack rubbed his finger in a circle on my shoulder as we lounged in the sand. "By the way, don't worry about the next level. Can't blame me for tryin', eh, mouse?"

I laughed. "It's been many a year since I heard you call me by that name," I told him.

"Least it gave you a laugh," he replied with a grin.

He lay on his back and continued. "The point I was makin' is this: Norrington ain't for you, and never was. You never really told him the wild, free way you was brought up; what do you think he'd have made of it, once he found out? Roamin' the world, gypsies, pirates, and weapons – no, love, Norrington would suffocate you. You're more like me – you were brought up _by_ an adventurer, to _be_ an adventurer, my girl, pure and simple. Now, lie down right here," patting the sand, "and don't you worry about old Jack. I'll keep you safe while you sleep – and you will always remember this as the night that you and Captain Jack Sparrow almost . . ." But, exhausted by the long day's trials, I was already asleep.

I woke the next morning with a ravenous appetite. Jack was still asleep, but I decided to scour the island for food. As I surveyed the vegetation and the possibilities offered by the surrounding waters, I was quite convinced that sustenance could be found if one knew where to look, despite Barbossa's assertion that there was none. _That contemptible brigand probably wouldn't think he'd had proper food unless it was a disgusting slab of overcooked meat and a few flavourless peas with the taste boiled right out of them,_ I decided.

I pushed through the brush towards the centre of the little island, and discovered a small pool of brackish water where the long, arched roots of mangrove trees had found a foothold. Nearby were some Brazilian cherry bushes, and I greedily helped myself to the dark, sweet berries for several minutes before I remembered to fill my pockets with cherries for Jack. Then I waded into the water, cursing under my breath as I stepped gingerly on the sharp underwater ends of broken mangrove roots. I ran my hand along the lower part of the roots, pulling off several odd shapes and bringing them up for examination. To my great delight, they were exactly what I was seeking. _Oysters!_ I thought joyfully, _Heaven at last!_

I took the cherries back to our camp and awakened Jack. We decided to cook the oysters around midday and eat as many as we could, leaving only those whose shells the heat did not open. "No later than midday; I'm already hungry enough to devour your shin," I cautioned him. "And here's something else for you," I added, passing over several tiny wine-coloured berries. "Wild coffee; I've already taken several, and it's a rare tonic, I must say!" Jack ate the berries, looking very pleased indeed.

"If I can't be marooned with a salty lady of dubious reputation, darlin', you're certainly the next best thing," he remarked with a smile.

After our midday meal, I waded into the surf and found a stretch of shoal near which lay another oyster reef, located where the shoreline formed a sort of hooked shape that protected the molluscs from rapid currents. That night, we feasted on oysters and a bit of coconut meat, and drank rum and the milk extracted from three coconuts that Jack had split open.

"That's disgusting, that is," Jack laughed, his mouth full of sweet white coconut meat, as he watched me dig an oyster out of its shell with a hairpin. "Where's the pin for me, eh?" He held out his hand and I passed him a second hairpin. We laughed and made merry so heartily that, had there been passers-by on that desolate island, they would have never have taken us for marooned and desperate souls. To this day, that supper remains one of the best and most memorable meals I have ever eaten.

"You deserve a favour after that feast," said Jack, quite jolly as he opened yet another bottle of rum. "Tell you what: ask me whatever y' like and I'll tell you what you want to know. What d'you say to that?"

"The last time you offered to do that, I came away with my very own list of rude pirate words, which my father discovered before I had memorized them," I laughed, but then I was struck with an idea.

"I know," I said to him. "Tell me how our fathers met! Tell me a venture they undertook that I haven't heard." The mood of the evening had recalled happier days, and I wanted to luxuriate in the past.

"How they met? That's easy enough, they met at the Battle of Vigo Bay, off northern Spain, and it was either Grandmamma that wrote to your grandfather Matthew, or he wrote to her, but somehow they were prevailed upon to look out for each other, and somehow that led to both of 'em startin' some enterprise or other upon the Spanish Main," he flashed a golden-toothed smile. "Not too far from where we are now, in fact," he added.

"Was my father a Messenger then? What sort of enterprise did they pursue?" I asked, noticing the lack of detail in his account. Jack, however, was about to begin a tale of greater significance that I guessed at the time.

"How much do you know about what Messengers really do?" he asked with a half-smile, studying my face in the firelight. "Oh, I know they take charge of the odd dispatch an' all, but . . . didn't you ever wonder, Brat? The diplomatic immunity, the 'unusual' skills?" He took a swig of rum, and resumed his story.

"The really good Messengers, m' dear little romp, have more in common with their piratical brethren than you might think. The commissions can range from 'somewhat extraordinary' right the way to 'bloody bizarre', and most times they've to pay themselves from the errand itself. It might involve such pleasant pastimes as espionage, sabotage, or brigandage, to name but a few. I told you your dad was an adventurer," he added, seeing my surprise.

"Then tell me one of those adventures," I pleaded. "Tell me the strangest one you know!"

"Just as you like, love," he nodded, and then fixed me with a hypnotic stare. "Have you ever heard the tale of the Basilikon of King Stephan?" I shook my head, transfixed by his words.

"Ah, well, that's the one I'll be telling then," he said. "Apparently there was a story that, hundreds of years ago, a mysterious personage from parts unknown brought an even more mysterious coin to the Duke of Saxony as a gift. It was a Basilikon, said to have belonged to King Stephan of Byzantium. This bit of shine could protect the wearer against cold steel, stabbing, or shooting – and, by the by, if you're looking for a gift for me, that's just the sort of coin I'd fancy. T'was gold, with no curse on it that I know of; and about twice the size and thickness of the one I wear." He touched the Siamese coin that hung from a strand of his hair. "The edge of it was sort of notched or indented right the way round, and it had a square cut out of the centre of it, I suppose to make it easier to keep on a chain." I peered at Jack's face, wondering how he could describe a mythical object quite so precisely.

"Well, your dad had only just received his commission as Messenger from Queen Anne, and she sent him right off to Saxony to find out if the fabulous Basilikon really existed, and to put his hand on it if it did, and me dad joined in the venture. They did find it, but they failed to deliver it to her. And if you ask me dad about it now, he'll say they never did find it." He paused, and I knew he was waiting for my questions.

"Do _you_ think they found it?" I asked, baffled by the murkiness of his account.

"Oh, they found it, right enough," he answered. "That I know. I was quite a young lad, but never will I forget what I saw when the two of 'em came back. I came into the Great Hall, and found Captain Harry standin' there, quite still, with a gold coin hangin' on a leather cord about his neck. Me dad was facin' him, not five feet away, with his cutlass drawn. Then your dad says," – and here, Jack did quite a credible imitation of my father – "'Give it your best, Edward – if it don't work, my life won't be worth a tinker's damn anyway.'

"Then me dad takes a great, massive swing at him with the cutlass. The blade cut right across his chest – I saw it with me own eyes – but the blood stopped flowin' in a trice, and the cut was sealed up as though me dad's sword never touched him. Gave me a hell of a turn, I can tell you."

I stared at him wide-eyed and dumbfounded. "Are you telling me that your dad took a cutlass to – that my . . . This is part of some yarn, isn't it?"

He shook his head. "It's the truth," he insisted, then lowered his voice. "I swear by the Code," he said, and his gaze was steady and serious, "an' you know I don't take that lightly."

I pondered the news that my father had tested the Basilikon in this way; both he and Teague must have had strong reason to trust in its power. "Then why wasn't it delivered to Queen Anne?" I asked at last. "It wouldn't be like my father to betray a commission."

"Ah! Well, as it just so happens, I've a theory about that," Jack replied with some pride. "I think your dad an' my dad took a decision on what to do, an' I think they decided that this coin was destined to be used for somethin' they didn't hold with." He gave me a searching look, a glint in his sharp eyes.

"Y' see, I think they knew what Queen Anne might do with it. This was just before her half-brother James tried to invade England and claim the throne. Suppose his dear sister had sent him a little trinket that kept him safe from bein' shot or run through?"

He let this sink in, before answering his own question. "We'd have had 'James III' and the Jacobites runnin' the shop is what. I think our dads decided to let matters sort themselves out without supernatural interference."

He stopped and looked at me with a dark, mysterious gaze. "It _did_ exist, my girl. After that, they may have kept it, hidden it, or lost it, but it did exist. And it _did_ work, as far as I could ever tell." Something in his voice made me feel as if ghosts were watching us, waiting just where the firelight met the darkness. I huddled a bit closer to him.

"I wish he had kept it," I whispered, an aching emptiness in my chest. "I wish my father had been wearing it when he crossed Bodmin Moor." Jack put an arm about my shoulders and gave me an affectionate squeeze, but it was a moment before he spoke.

"And how do you know he wasn't?" he asked.

"But . . . if he had such an object, an amulet, he couldn't be killed," I protested, my scepticism regarding such matters entirely forgotten.

"Unless," Jack lifted his finger as he spoke, "Unless someone knew he wore it and took it off him. Then he could be killed as easy as scratch, couldn't he?"

"Who would know that he had the Basilikon?" I demanded.

Jack shrugged. "Hard to say, love. You know me dad wouldn't blow the gaff; Captain Harry was like a brother to him. I think it would have had to be someone who'd been at Highcliffe about the same time, savvy?"

I frowned and mulled this over without arriving at any solution; the exertions of the day, the quantity of rum we had consumed, and the ceaseless, slow susurration of the waves coming ashore were starting to make me feel quite drowsy.

"It's past your bedtime, mouse," commented Jack. "Time for another nice kip under tropical skies. Pleasant dreams of oysters an' magical coins, love." I lay down in the still warm sand and drifted off, and dreamt all night of oysters with basilikons hidden in their shells.

I was jolted awake from my dreams as a pile of dried palm fronds landed on me suddenly. "_What _–," I began, sitting up in the morning sunlight.

"Shsshhshssshhh!" warned Jack, breathily. "I have to conceal you – the rum runners are coming back!" His voice slurred enough to assure me that the rum runners would find their inventory in steep decline.

"Perhaps they'll take us off the island! We should let them know –"

"No! We can manage this ourselves," he grabbed my arm and hoisted me to my feet as the fronds tumbled away. Dragging me to the sugar palm, he urged, "Go! Go!" And, accusingly, "I've _seen_ you climb it – up you go! I'll follow you!"

"Aren't we _trying_ to get off this island?" I demanded. But, pushing me with both hands and boosting me with his shoulder, he succeeded in getting me to climb the curved trunk. When I was concealed in the leafy crown at the top, I heard heavy footsteps and a low-voiced greeting, as one of the rum runners spoke to Jack.

"You alright, then, boy? Not marooned or some such fix?"

"Marooned? Nah, I'm right as rain! Nice place, innit?" Jack spoke with an odd air of embarrassment.

"Don't need anything? I'm bound for Tortuga."

"No, no. Got it sorted, thanks."

"Right then. I'm off."

"Right. Cheers, then."

"Cheers, Jacky."

At this last, I quickly parted the fronds to see none other than Captain Teague. He and Jack had turned from each other and were walking in opposite directions. Then Teague halted.

"And what says Nina?" he asked, without turning around.

"Nina?" Jack froze in mid-step, smiling.

"I say, bless you Captain Teague! I'm coming with you! Jack can stay here if he likes!" I scrambled down the trunk. "What_ is_ the matter with you?" I hissed at Jack.

"How did you know she was up there?" Jack asked his father, frowning.

"Boy," grunted Teague. "Are you really asking me how I know when there's a woman about?"

As we marched behind Teague to the longboat, Jack whispered to me, "I trust you will never, ever reveal to _anyone_ that" — he gestured towards Teague's back — "rescued me, savvy?"

* * *

Next: Chapter 8 - Tia Dalma - In which a fortune is told, a bargain is struck, and friends part.


	8. Tia Dalma

******Disclaimer:** I have no claim whatsoever to any part of the Pirates of the Caribbean franchise. The original characters and original plots are owned by me.

* * *

**Tia Dalma**

It was our good fortune that Captain Teague agreed to take us as far as the mouth of the Pantano. English ships were not welcome so close to Cuba, a prized Spanish possession, and the _Misty Lady_ was bound for Tortuga. However, Jack did not wish to be seen arriving in Tortuga aboard his father's ship, and I did not have the stomach for the town's legendary roistering after suffering through the mutiny of the _Pearl_'s crew.

"The scabrous swine are likely already there, or on their way, with the cursed gold burning holes in their pockets," Jack pointed out. "No need for us to turn up and spoil the party just yet." He was restless and impatient to recover his ship, but clever enough that he wished to gain more information before deciding his course of action. And there was also the matter of our rescue.

"What about . . . an abandoned ship floated ashore, and we took charge of 'er?" Jack asked me. We were standing at the rail of the _Misty Lady_, gazing down at the waves breaking around her bow as she made her way towards the Cuban coast.

I sighed. There was no dissuading Jack from inventing his own mythology if it spared him the humiliation of admitting to a paternal rescue. "And what happened to the abandoned ship after that?" I questioned him. "Where did it go? Did it disappear?"

Then a sudden thought made me laugh. "You know . . . really, you might say anything you like," I suggested. "What with the merciless sun, the fearful fate awaiting you, and all the rum, everyone will think you're half-mad no matter what you say! Why not give them a story they won't forget?" Jack narrowed his eyes as he thought this over, then he suddenly fixed me with a keen look.

"All right, then. What d' ye think about . . . sea turtles?" he said. "Strong swimmers, those creatures. Who's to say they didn't take us across the sea to Cuba, eh, love?"

"I think sea turtles would earn a unique place for the legendary Captain Jack Sparrow, in the annals of desert island escapes," I told him. "And you don't need me to appear in it, or swear to it; no one even knows I was on the island. Those robbers likely assume I perished at sea; why disabuse them of that notion?"

Jack seemed pleased by my reaction.

Teague sent us ashore at the mouth of the Pantano, with enough silver to buy a canoe off the fishermen who frequented those waters. Having acquired a small but sturdy craft, we embarked on our journey up the Pantano River.

It was mid-afternoon on a bright and cloudless day when we set out; yet by the time we had reached Tia Dalma's dwelling, the bayou's canopy had filtered out most of the sunlight. The air was warm and noiseless but for the soft buzzing of dragonflies and mosquitoes, as our canoe glided through the tranquil, swampy water from one thin shaft of brightness to another. Ahead, our destination was a precarious looking wooden structure perched high in a cypress tree.

"Best let me go first," said Jack, as he made ready to climb the ladder to the door of this fanciful dwelling. I followed him up, and entered a dimly-lit room cluttered with an assortment of strange and grotesque items of every conceivable description. They hung upon the walls, slithered along the ceiling beams, and lay tumbled about on the shelves and floor. Exotic, spicy scents of oils, herbs and perfumes mingled together in the air – _Myrrh, attar?_ I wondered – along with a waxy smell from the dozens of small votive candles which served to light the room.

As my eyes adjusted to the dim light, I spied a light and graceful figure seated at a small loom on the far side of the parlour. Turning her pretty, dreadlocked head to inspect us, she broke into a wide, inviting smile and rose from her work to greet Jack.

"Ah, Witty Jack! At last 'im come t' visit me once more." She swayed gently towards Jack, her head tilted fetchingly and her slender hands outstretched. Her speech was heavily accented with Jamaican patois, and her general appearance was like that of other voodoo women, or mambos, of the Caribbean – but her eyes! How shall I describe those great, dark lamps that shone with a light altogether supernatural? At once demanding your gaze and compelling veneration, they were wondrous eyes, possessed by no mere mortal: they were the eyes of the Goddess.

"An' what brings yuh to me, dear mon?" she inquired, taking his hands.

"I thought it was time to introduce Nina – she doesn't know," he added hastily.

Smiling, Tia Dalma turned her fathomless gaze upon me. "A' course she don' know! How kyan de poor modderless child imagine it?"

She took in my weary appearance and patted my hair. "De last time me saw yuh, dear wan, yuh fadder petition me to be yuh patroness. Him dedicate him little girl to me!" She laughed softly at my amazement. "Don' worry, dear wan. Tia Dalma have neglect yuh, but she willing t' counsel yuh now. She know many t'ings – about yuh fate, yuh future an' yuh heart's desire." She disappeared into another room, returning with two steaming mugs of some unfamiliar drink that made Jack wince.

"Aren't you going to demand . . . you know?" Jack asked, rubbing thumb and fingers together.

Tia Dalma laughed at him and tossed her head. "Not everyt'ing have a price," she replied.

Jack looked surprised and muttered, "You could have fooled me."

Tia Dalma ignored his remark and, waving me to a seat at her parlour table, insinuated herself into the chair facing mine.

"An' now," she said to me, "gimme yuh hands." She turned my palms upward and began to read, swiftly and without hesitation.

"Oh dear, she 'ave a serious, determined nature, an' ruled by her passions," she said, frowning and shaking her head. "Still, it show yuh refined, genteel side – but yuh stubbornness been out for a longah time."

"Yuh have de gift, but don't use it; yuh feel so deeply, but kyan not read de meaning. Well, we kyan balance dese things. More – yuh mark for travel. And yuh lifeline have wan, two, t'ree great changes. De Island warn of great danger," she continued, tracing shapes on my palm, "But de Square promise great reward if yuh willin' to see it t'ru." The corners of her mouth turned up in a mysterious smile. "Hmm . . . de child don't know her own heart, home, nor fate."

She released my hands and motioned Jack to leave us. "Now, tell me what yuh think gwan mek yuh happy," she said, as soon as we were alone. "Mek yuh petition; I'm listening an' de door is open to yuh."

Such motherly concern was unknown to me, and she so disarmed me that I found myself freely and openly telling her of my deepest hurts and sorrows, from the loss of my father to my monstrous ordeal at Highcliffe, from the depredations of Barbossa to my near murder. "Hanibal and Barbossa have ravaged my life twice over," I told her, "And I long for justice. But of the two, I fear my uncle more. I know I will be hunted for the sake of the price he is offering, and I realise what it would mean if I fell into his hands."

Tia Dalma nodded her head. "Death, dear wan," she replied. "It would mean yuh dead." She sighed. "And him have done many other evil t'ings unknown to yuh. But some, yuh guess." Giving me a penetrating look, she said, "Now – tell me 'bout de dream." I was astonished that she knew of the troubling, prophetic dream that had come to me before my father's murder.

"It happened two days before my father was killed," I began, reluctantly. "I don't remember how the dream started, but I was in our library with the housekeeper, standing near my father's armchair. She had a broom with her, but she was trying to show me something in a book. There was a map or a picture with a multitude of lines – I could make nothing of it." I bit my lip, recalling how the housekeeper had gestured and seemed to warn me in the wordless speech of dreams.

"She gave me to know for certain that unless we did something, it would mean catastrophe. She pointed to a page where there were two sixes with a stroke between – I thought it was a price of some sort. I awoke in great turmoil, with a terrible foreboding – but I did not understand the dream. And was it not simply a dream?" I asked, with a worried look at Tia Dalma; but her expression did not change.

"I didn't think of it again," I went on. "Not until they told me my father had been murdered crossing Bodmin Moor. Then I realised that he had died upon the sixth of June — the two sixes in my dream. Later, I saw a survey map of Bodmin and recognised it at once." I turned my eyes up to the ceiling, blinking, to prevent my tears from falling.

"If my dream was an omen, why did it show me things I could not interpret? Why torment me with foreknowledge of things I could not prevent? Or was the fault in me, and I should have been able to do something?" I asked desperately. There was a tight knot of tension in my stomach, and I struggled to keep some semblance of composure.

"Yuh nah kyan choose what yuh dream," Tia Dalma said quietly, shaking her head. "Yuh kyan turn from it, or look and see what it tell yuh. Sometime de knowledge help yuh, but sometime it only grieve yuh an' dere is nothing yuh can do. Dat is de price of de gift." She sat in silence for a moment, then asked another question, as if she were reading my thoughts, "Tell me – when yuh uncle appear at de house?" Her question increased my agitation, as it touched upon a mystery that had baffled me ever since that terrible day.

"He arrived the next evening," I whispered, my head bowed. "I didn't know who he was or whence he came, although surely it must have been from hell. I couldn't understand how he was there so quickly, since travel in my corner of England is rough and slow. And he was so . . . prepared. He practically took the house by storm, and all at once his cronies were everywhere in Pencarren. I suppose the conqueror may throw the vanquished to the wolves, and that's what he did to me and to the town."

I lifted my head and stared at Tia Dalma. "You ask what would make me happy. Please, Tia Dalma, if it lies within your power, help me defeat him."

She smiled. "It lies wit'in yuh own power, dear wan. But him more dangerous dan yuh know. Yuh know but a small share of de evil an' suffarin' him have caused. I kyan help yuh in yuh need, but do yuh know what it mean, to defeat dis man by yuh own hand?"

"I do," I answered. "Hanibal means to kill me, and he won't be defeated until he has lost his own life. But how would I repay you? I have no riches to offer you in exchange for your help."

She turned her lantern eyes upon me, and again I had the peculiar sense of conversing with a great Power, whose physical aspect belied her alien nature. "B'cause yuh were dedicated to me by him whose heart was faithful, I will honour me promise and help yuh. It mean yuh will stay here for a time. I will ask yuh for t'ree t'ings – one far each t'ing I will give in return. First, yuh must give me somet'in yuh have, den yuh must bring me somet'in I need, an' last, yuh must obey me patiently as long as I require. In return, I will give yuh me counsel, help yuh defeat yuh uncle an' yuh other enemies, an' help yuh gain yuh heart's desire. Now . . . kyan yuh bend yuh will to mine?"

"With deepest thanks," I said. "And I promise to be bound to all your conditions."

She smiled. "Good. Den we begin. Gimme de braid of yuh hair."

Surprised, I unpinned the braid and handed it to her. "And the second task? Bringing you the thing you need?" I asked, glancing about the parlour.

"Dat will come in time," she said, charmingly. "Yuh will sleep in de room at de top of de stairs. Yuh sojourn 'ere is a long one." She sent me up a small wooden staircase, while inviting Jack to rejoin her for some private discussion between them. After a time, Jack appeared at the door of my room.

"Looks like a partin' of the ways," he said giving me a quick embrace. "I've to see about the _Pearl_, and puttin' this shot to its proper use, savvy?" He patted the grip on his pistol. "I'll look in on you when I can. Keep a weather eye, eh, mouse?" He looked as though he would add a word, but instead, he kissed my forehead lightly, flashed a sparkling gold grin, and was gone.

Over the following months, I slowly settled into a pleasant existence at Tia Dalma's shack. In the tropics, days stretched into weeks, and weeks into seasons, with barely perceptible changes. Winter was not marked by snow, or spring by thaws; in this land of one seemingly eternal summer, it was easy to lose track of time.

In the mornings, Tia Dalma was generally found walking back and forth at her loom, wielding a shuttle that appeared to be made of gold. I would sit nearby as she told me histories and legends of times and places unimagined, of long-forgotten gods and the fateful voyages of illustrious heroes. As she talked, she wove what looked like a long, narrow scarf, to which she continually added strands from the braid of my hair. She gave me to understand that, when this work was finished, I would then be called to fulfil my other promises to her, and she would help me gain victory over my uncle, his cronies, and Barbossa.

In the evenings, she often occupied herself with divination, murmuring incantations and repeatedly tossing a small collection of crab shells or bones. She would pore over these grotesque relics as they lay tumbled about her parlour table.

Now and then, she would tell me something of my own future, although at first she resolutely refused to read my heart line or speak of James Norrington. However, one night my entreaties persuaded her to answer me. "Please, Tia Dalma," I begged her. "My heart was broken when he threw me over, yet I still wish that he might come back to me. Can you not give me some hope? Have you never loved?"

At this last question, Tia Dalma sighed and took up several small white crab shells. Whispering to them as if imparting a secret, she tossed the little pile onto the table before her. With a quick glance at the shells, she said, "Yuh will 'ave only one attachment – to de true desire of yuh heart." My pulse quickened with hope at the idea that perhaps, even after all this time, James was not forever beyond my reach; but Tia Dalma's next pronouncement dashed all my dreams.

Leaning forward in her chair, she studied the shells a moment longer, and shook her head. "Nah, James not be de wan, dear. Dere be anodder in yuh future. When de time come, yuh will know de truth."

Then she smiled sympathetically. "Sometime, yuh 'eart feel like it broken, but de hurt is only a bruise," she said, but her words fell on deaf ears. I lay awake most of that night in despair, unable to see how there could possibly be a true desire of my heart – and it was not James.

Every few days, Tia Dalma would send me to trade her spells and potions with the coastal fisher folk to keep her table supplied. There was an abundance of fish, oysters, waterfowl and other delicacies available on the island of Cuba, and the fisher folk prized her potions. I kept up my skills in the Spanish language, and enjoyed my frequent expeditions to the wild and sunny shoreline.

One day, returning from this pleasant bartering, I heard a man's loud voice coming from Tia Dalma's shack. Since she was often sought out by people from all walks of life, even the great Alcalde of the Havana, it was not surprising that she had a visitor in her parlour. I generally made myself scarce during these consultations, so I slowed my canoe and drew off to one side, to avoid embarrassing her petitioner. As I did so, I recognised the voice as belonging to my persecutor, Mr Barbossa. He sounded angry and imperious as usual, but there was something else in his tone that I had never heard; it sounded like the voice of a desperate man.

Alarmed and breathless, I hid myself out of sight in the swamp until a long silence seemed to hint of his departure. At last, I crept forward until I could see Tia Dalma's door and the small dock, which was empty.

After a moment more, Tia Dalma appeared in the doorway. She turned her gaze directly upon my hiding place, and beckoned me inside.

"An' now it unfolds," she told me. "De curse has claim all de fine men of de _Pearl_. Him come to me to find what dey must do to lift de curse. Poor man, now him pay for all him wickedness – tryin' t' kill Witty Jack, tryin' t' kill yuh, takin' yuh shares of de gold. Remember," she added, shaking her head, "de snare most dangerous to yuh is de wan yuh set wit' yuh own hand for others."

"Did you reveal to him how to break the curse?" I asked, dismayed that I might have missed my only chance of wresting back my belongings.

"De gold mus' be return, an' blood repaid from each of dem t'ieves. And de gold was scattered by der own hands 'cross de Caribbean. Now dey must undo all der reckless foolishness." She sighed. "An' Barbossa have done de most foolish t'ing of all."

"Well, if Jack catches him first, he won't have time to undo anything. Jack will shoot the scoundrel, and then –"

"Ah!" she interjected. "But, me dear, dey nah kyan die. Dey suffering more dan eternal hunger, t'irst an' desire: dere is no dyin'! No release from de horror of death-in-life. Try t' pity dem in yer heart – and t'ink yerself bless dat you an' Witty Jack escape."

At this I fell silent. Barbossa had saved us by the very action of his plan to destroy us.

Later that night I lay on my bed, pondering Tia Dalma's words. As I drifted to sleep, I turned my thoughts to the fate of the _Pearl_ and all the souls that sailed upon her. I tried to think what the brigand Barbossa might have done that Tia Dalma said was the most foolish thing of all.

"I told him."

Dreaming, I heard a remorseful voice lamenting nearby.

"Didn't mean to – I thought he might let me go home . . . if I told him. I wanted to see me little boy." I was standing on the _Pearl_'s deck, conversing with Bootstrap, just as we had done years ago.

"I'm so sorry. I let ye down. I let Jack down, too." Poor Bootstrap was distressed, and I hastened to comfort him.

"I forgive you," I said. I comprehended the possible outcome of his betrayal only too well, yet he looked at me as though I had not understood.

"But he _knows_ – Barbossa knows about the price on yer head. I sent me share of the gold where he couldn't find it, so he had 'em tie a cannon t' me . . . and I thought p'raps I could save meself. But there weren't no likelihood o' that. Gave you up, I did, an' now I'm at the bottom of the sea. And I can't die." I felt a thrill of horror as he spoke. "He knows," Bootstrap's voice grew faint. "I'm sorry, miss."

I opened my eyes to see the light of a full moon falling upon my bed. My limbs felt weighted down, just as they had after the dream warning of my father's murder. Uncanny as it was, I had no doubt that my dream was true. As I became more wakeful, fear took me, and my heart pounded loudly in my chest.

In my mind, sharply detailed pictures formed of poor Bootstrap; first, dangling from the cannon as it was hoisted on a yardarm and swung out over the water, and then enduring the speed and force of that deadly fall when the line was cut. What terror he must have felt in those last moments! I winced, covering my face with my cold hands. Then I threw off the bed-clothes and made my way down to the dark little parlour.

The hour was late and the shack quiet as I descended the stairs without a light. When I reached the last step, I was startled to find Tia Dalma sitting peacefully and nearly motionless at the table in the dark. I reflected that I had never seen her retire to sleep on any evening, and I had no actual idea of how she passed the nights. She smiled and nodded me towards a seat, seemingly expecting me.

"I didn't mean to disturb you," I apologised. "My sleep was cut short by a nightmare." I told her of my dream and my grief over Bootstrap. "And now the man who did this to him knows that a reward may be come at by returning me to Hanibal." We sat in silence for some time. Then I said, "Bootstrap's fate could have been my own, could it not?"

"Yes," Tia Dalma answered softly.

"And if the chance arises, Barbossa would trade me to Hanibal for gold."

"Yes," Tia Dalma sighed. "Wit' him, it usually be a mattah a' money." She paused, then asked, "Yuh know yuh dreams be divinations?" I shook my head.

"Dey always happen de same way, don't dey?" she pressed on. "In yuh dream, someone yuh know tell yuh somet'ing, yuh might see writin' or oddah t'ings, an' after yuh wake, yuh feelings oppress yuh an' weigh yuh body down. Den yuh hear or see somet'ing later, an' de dream mek sense."

Then she gave me a sly look from under her lashes, and added, "Have yuh thought whedder Bootstrap needed to tell yuh somet'ing?"

"He said that Barbossa knows my uncle will pay a bounty for me," I answered. "But I hardly needed to be warned, since Barbossa is the last person I wish to encounter under any circumstances."

Tia Dalma gazed ahead of her as though the future were unfolding before her eyes. "Well, perhaps, y' are beginning to be drawn along de path yuh must tek," she suggested. "At de end of it lie de answers yuh seek, an' more." She glanced quickly at me. "Patience, dear wan," she said, smiling.

* * *

Next: Chapter 9 - Captain Sparrow's Design - In which an old friend returns and a new skill is put to the test.


	9. Captain Sparrow's Design

******Disclaimer:** I have no claim whatsoever to any part of the Pirates of the Caribbean franchise. The original characters and original plots are owned by me.

* * *

**Captain Sparrow's Design**

A week after I dreamt of Bootstrap, I awoke to the welcome sound of a familiar voice in the parlour. Jumping out of bed, I threw on my boy's clothes, braided my hair into something resembling a pigtail, and rushed down the stairs. To my great delight, I found Jack Sparrow in consultation with Tia Dalma over a strange bundle of clothes that lay upon the table. They turned towards me, and Jack greeted me with a broad grin.

"Hello, darlin'! By an amazin' coincidence, we was just speakin' about you!"

Steering me towards the table, he added, "I'm quite gratified indeed to see you've settled in so nicely. Beautiful place, innit? I mean, for a phantasmagorical, grotesque, foreboding sort of place, eh? I was thinking you might be ready for a quick look round the unhaunted realm. What d' ye say – fancy stepping out for a bit with Jack?"

He grinned as he made this proposal, but I was conscious of a change in Jack since last I saw him. To my eye, he was a fine figure of a man in the prime of his life, but harder now in both appearance and manner, and, in spite of his light-hearted words, betraying some unspoken worry behind his sphinx-like eyes.

"May I?" I enquired, looking at Tia Dalma.

"By all means," she replied, smiling at Jack.

"Right, then, we're all agreed!" Jack rubbed his hands together, and hoisted the bundle onto his back. "We're off," he called out over his shoulder, as he hurried me out of the door.

"Somehow I expected a bit more conversation, a few more pleasantries!" I exclaimed as he tossed the bundle into a boat.

"No point riskin' her having a last minute change of heart," he replied as he stepped into the boat and offered me his hand.

"Where are we off to?" I asked, joining him in the little craft.

"We're going where I've got to take you, so you can help your old mate discover what he needs to know, in order to sort out what he's got to do." He gave an encouraging look as he delivered this explanation.

"Lovely to see we've got no secrets between us," I said, as we steered our boat towards the mouth of the Pantano. But in spite of my chaffing, he offered no further details.

We left the boat upon the bank of the river, and walked to the shore, where Jack set out upon a sandy path leading away from the water and up into the foothills. After we had walked some distance with no sign of civilization in sight, I halted. "Where is this taking us? Are we walking all the way to the Havana? I think I'm ready for a few more particulars."

Jack stopped and we sat for a moment at the side of the path. "I admit it seems more of a trek than I thought; but this is the shortest way," he remarked. However, I was tiring of this game.

"The shortest way to . . .?" I enquired, lifting my eyebrows.

Looking into the distance, he replied, "Santiago, darlin'; we're off to Santiago."

"And the reason would be . . .?" I began to feel as if I were trying to coax a declamation from one of Tia Dalma's crab shells.

"What we need is to be in charge of some horses," said Jack suddenly, ignoring my question and spreading both hands as if bracketing his announcement.

I frowned; nothing was making sense. "So that's it? My purpose is to procure some horses?"

He threw me a most winning smile. "Now, darlin', you don't think I'd want you travelling on foot through the mountains to Santiago, do you? Just go get us some horses and Robert's your mother's brother, savvy?" As he spoke, he gave me a stare and jerked his head sideways, and I realised that several horses were grazing in a nearby field. The only man-made structure appeared to be a dilapidated shed.

There was nothing to do but fall in with his plans. "Right, then," I said as I scrambled to my feet. Inside the shed, I found two old halters which I handed to Jack. I threw some handfuls of sand and pebbles into an old bucket, and began shaking it from side to side, calling to the horses as I did so. Hearing the promising sounds of a tastier dinner than grass, some of the little herd came to my hand. We put the halters on the two gentlest, and tied the ropes into crude reins. Once on their backs, we trotted off through the mountains towards Santiago de Cuba.

That evening, we halted for the night and prepared to camp in the mountains. As we sat near the small fire Jack had made, I undertook to question him again, and eventually he revealed a bit more of his purpose.

"Tia Dalma says you can see things that are going to happen," he began. "As well as things that are happening presently but in other locales, so to speak. And as it turns out, that's exactly what I need; someone to 'divine' a certain fact or facts that is, or are, of the utmost interest to me." Somewhere nearby a night bird called out, and Jack started. "I may be in somewhat of a fix, in fact," he admitted.

"Is this related to getting the _Pearl_ back from that dreadful man?" I asked.

Jack considered my question. "It is," he replied firmly. "Then again, it is _not_."

I heaved a sigh, and went on. "Can you say how this divination is to come about? Or what I am meant to divine? You seem to be relying quite heavily on my education at the hands of Tia Dalma. However, I'm bound to tell you that thus far – in the entire span of my life – I have had exactly two supernatural revelations, quite unbidden and full of confusing implications. I don't reckon this gift to be much use, and I haven't a clue how to make it manifest itself."

"So you'll do it?" he said with a grin.

"I haven't said," I protested obstinately.

"But you're _contemplating_ it!" he replied, his eyes gleaming. "That's my girl; I have every confidence in you!"

I held off his congratulatory embrace. "I see you play your cards closer to the vest than before," I said, "But it's time to show your hand. Out with it, Jack – if you want my help!"

Jack took a breath and glanced about as if he expected to be set upon by invisible adversaries. "In a nutshell," he said in a confidential tone, "I need to find a key, savvy? All I need to know is what it looks like, where it is, and who's got charge of it. There's rumoured to be a mariner hereabouts who may know something. He sails on the _Whydah_, and every year he comes to a certain cantina in Santiago and has his fortune told."

"The _Whydah_? Rackham's ship?" I enquired.

"That's the one, love," he said, as serious as I'd ever seen him. Then he gave me an entreating look. "Ah, never mind the divination, Brat. What I need is someone I can trust – that would be you – to tell his fortune and see if in the process you can dig out any particulars about said object."

"But there's nothing extraordinary about that vessel or her crew. Why bring me all this way?" I was baffled.

Jack brightened. "Well," he explained, "The man we're looking for was born and bred in Bandirma and only speaks. . ."

"Turkish. Now I see." I was relieved that Jack simply needed my language skills. This made far more sense than a supposed ability to divine hidden knowledge. Pretending to read palms in Turkish would not be difficult for me, and my confidence increased as I considered the matter. I could try to gain the man's trust and lead him to reveal the information Jack sought. "It may end with nothing," I warned him, "But I shall try this for your sake. I can see you have some shadow following you that's even worse than losing the _Pearl_."

"I might not be the only one followed by a shadow." His dark eyes fixed me with a keen stare that made my face flush uncomfortably. I looked away, tracing designs in the dirt with my finger.

"Please put out the fire," I said at last, seeking an escape from his sharp, noticing ways. "The air is mild, and I'm not afraid of the ghosts in these mountains."

I lay flat on the ground and gazed up at the stars, which were faint and dim where the night sky was flooded by the brilliant light of the tropical moon. Jack put out the fire reluctantly, and stretched out on the other side of the embers. "Ghosts, you said?" he enquired. "Not . . . uh, seafaring ghosts, are they?"

"Members of the Guanahatabey tribes," I replied. "Don't tell me you're afraid of ghosts, Jack. I've never known you to give a thought to that sort of thing."

"I suppose it's down to how much time you think you've got before you're no longer among the livin'," he mused. "Be nice if you were immortal, eh?"

"Not if you were Bootstrap," I said, swallowing to ease a sudden dryness in my throat. Then I told him of my dream; how I knew that Barbossa had thrown Bootstrap to the bottom of the sea. "What must Bootstrap be enduring even now?" I asked. "He can't die; he's doomed to suffering without end, being crushed, not being able to breathe . . ."

I heard Jack turn on his side towards me. Even in the dark, I sensed how my words upset him. "And now," I added, "Barbossa knows what he can gain by taking me to Hanibal. Yes, there's a shadow following me, Jack."

"I'd heard Bootstrap's tale," he said with a sigh. "Didn't plan to fret you with it; it'll all come right in the end." Then he added gently, "Even the other things they did to you at Highcliffe."

I sat bolt upright. "No one knows of that," I exclaimed, shocked.

Jack sat up. "So it did happen," he said to himself, and then turned to me. "And you couldn't even tell your closest friend. But that's the trouble with secrets, innit? They always find a way to get out." He shrugged once. "A tale in a taproom, half a hint that gets passed along . . . but I'm just the one to put it all together. Who was in on it?"

I said nothing.

"Oi, mouse," he gently urged me. "It's me, love."

"I can't, Jack," I said finally, lying down again. "If I think of it, I feel as if it's happening all over again. There were four; that's all you'll get from me."

Jack lay down, but stretched a hand out and clasped my fingers. "Sorry, mouse."

I sighed and closed my eyes, but sleep was long in coming to me that night.

In the morning, we started as soon as the paths were light, and rode down from the mountains towards Santiago. The day was beautiful, and restored our spirits somewhat from the uneasy mood of the previous night. By the time we were in sight of the town, the last rays of the sun were starting to fade and the harbour was flecked with tiny yellow lights cast by the lanterns hanging from the sterns of so many ships.

Just before we entered Santiago, we set our horses free. Then we walked into a cantina near the Morro fortress, where Jack stood me to a drink and a bit of supper. After our meal, Jack prodded the bundle he had brought along. "Time for you to don the petticoats an' all I've brought, and turn into a proper fortune teller," he said in a confidential voice.

He rose from the table, seized the bundle and took possession of me, making a show of encircling my waist tightly with his strong, sinewy arm, and kissing my neck rather expertly, as we swayed towards the back of the establishment. From even this brief manoeuvre, I could well understand why the ladies were so fond of Jack. He tossed a coin to someone who grinned and waved us through a narrow door, and we found ourselves in a small room, clearly much used for trysts of a rapid and commercial kind.

Jack untied the bundle to reveal several petticoats, a red bodice, stays, and a sash and veil, both trimmed with small gold coins. Sizing me up, he remarked, "Your own shift will do, but the stays might be tricky. I'll lace you up, right?"

I nodded, having no doubt he would prove adept at this task. "Quick now, we don't want to miss our chance," he added. Picking up one of the garments, I noticed that it was stained, and stank of sweat, perfume, rum, and several other odours best left unidentified.

"Whose clothes are these?" I asked him, making a face. "They smell utterly rank!" I sniffed at the sash. "Eugh! Was someone's cat –?"

"Let's just say I owe several favours for the loan of 'em, darlin'," he smirked.

Once I was attired in flowing skirts, tight bodice and scarves, Jack looked me over, making sure I was sufficiently alluring and my neckline impressively low. Then he led me forth from the room and seated me at a table in a corner. "I'll just recommend your services and do some business in sign language with a certain Turkish seaman," he said.

I hoped the "services" he intended to recommend consisted only of my ability to read palms, but he disappeared in the crowd before I could say anything. As I watched the cantina door open to admit new customers, it seemed to me that we must be in for a spell of rain for, contrary to the clear skies of the afternoon, the night seemed to be filling with fog.

In due course, Jack reappeared, making extravagant motions with his hands, and steering a man towards me who seems to have drunk his share for the evening. Jack gave me the high sign and deposited the man at my table.

"_Merhaba_," I greeted him. He grunted in reply.

I held out my hand and he produced a dirty bit of silver. I took the coin, and began to study his palm, trying to think how on earth I was to get the information Jack wanted.

"This line," I lied, pointing, "I see some connection to a key – a special key. Perhaps you or one close to you..."

"Not me – my brother," he volunteered. "He thinks it is a talisman." I nodded and tried to look wise.

"You are separated from him," I hazarded, knowing that a person who wishes their fortune told will fit these vague pronouncements to their own history, but give credit to the fortune teller.

He nodded again, and then, with no warning, it happened. As I held the man's wrist, the cantina faded right out of my sight, my breathing slowed and my arms grew heavy. I saw a beacon shining over dark waters, and the towering walls of what I understood to be a prison. Then I saw a man who resembled the Turkish seaman. I could see through his ornate coat as if it were glass, and there appeared to be a dirty, folded bit of linen laid against the centre of his chest, over his heart. As I stared at this phantasm in my mind's eye, cannon fire erupted and jolted me back to the physical world.

Disoriented and reeling, I heard more cannons, and saw the cantina's customers bolting for the doors, seeking a place of greater safety. The Turkish seaman lay slumped forward over the table, passed out or worse, and Jack pulled me to my feet.

"Time we were runnin' along, darlin'," he said coolly. "By the sound of those guns, the _Pearl_ is firing on the port." He dragged me out the door as I tried to absorb this news, and we crouched down behind the seawall outside. Jack produced his spyglass and gave a low whistle as he looked out at the harbour.

"What d' ye know – some of the gold must be here! Now that's interesting! Ever seen a ship crewed by the damned?" He passed me the glass, and I peered through it at the _Pearl_. To my horror, she appeared like a ghost ship, surrounded by fog, with pale starlight showing through her tattered sails as if through the rotten ribs of a skeleton.

As I stared, the moon broke through the clouds, and I could make out that the men on deck seemed horribly thin and glistening like bones. With a shock, I noticed the silhouette of their captain. His face was hidden by the brim of his hat, and I was deeply thankful that I could see no more than his elongated hands, which had the same hideously thin, fleshless appearance as the crew. _What's wrong with them?_ I wondered. _Something is terribly wrong._ Once again I found myself picturing Barbossa throwing me overboard as he had Bootstrap, and an irrational fear took hold of me that he would become aware of Jack's spyglass and be able to see me looking through it. In the midst of all the tumult, a cannon shot shattered the seawall not two feet to my right.

Terrified and deafened, I dropped the glass and ran for my life, sprinting like a wild coney up the hill to the fortress Castillo de San Pedro. Jack caught up to me at last, pulled me to a hiding place, and tried to reassure me. "They're lookin' for the gold; it's calling 'em. They don't know we're here. Just you sit tight and they'll be off soon enough."

After perhaps fifteen minutes, the shouts and gunfire abated. When I appeared calmer, Jack asked me about the Turkish seaman. "I don't suppose you got much from him, under the circumstances, eh?"

I told him of my vision. That there was a prison, and in it a man who kept a linen document hidden under his coat, near his heart. This cloth was related to the key. "I think he might be a Janissary," I told Jack. "In any case, he seems to be the one in charge of the prison."

"Any idea where said prison might be found, love?" Jack's intense stare implored me to tell him all I knew.

I sighed unhappily. "Yes, but it's very bad news indeed, my dear. You and I both know the beacon well: it's the Maiden's Keep. The prison overlooks the roughest waters of the Bosporus straits."

Jack looked delighted. "I knew I could count on you," he exclaimed, and embraced me warmly. Startled, I realised that Jack's strong arms comforted and steadied me. _Could it be,_ I thought for a moment, _you're the one I'm fated to love, after all?_ And yet, attractive as he was, I did not feel at all the way I expected to feel in the presence of my heart's desire.

"Now let's get you back safe to Tia Dalma," he said, standing up and offering me his hand. "I expect she's got the cauldron on, and we do _not_ want to keep her waiting!"

* * *

Next: Chapter 10 - The Second Task - In which Nina must succeed in a strange and fearful venture.


	10. The Second Task

******Disclaimer:** I have no claim whatsoever to any part of the Pirates of the Caribbean franchise. The original characters and original plots are owned by me.

* * *

**The Second Task**

One evening, as I watched Tia Dalma finishing her weaving, she glanced at me and remarked, "It almos' complete. Kyan yuh tell what it is?"

I shook my head. "Tell me," she went on, "do yuh know what a spancel is?"

"A spancel?" I drew my brows together, perplexed. "At home, a spancel is a rope to hobble a horse or cow, but it doesn't look like that."

"Spancel kyan have many uses," she smiled. "Dis be a spancel for binding."

"Binding what?" I asked, my interest piqued.

"Binding one t'ing to anodder." She took up the completed end of the spancel and drew it between her fingers. "When yuh tie dis 'round dem, it kyan bind de soul to de body. Also, it kyan keep a person from movin' until yuh release it."

"Can it bind someone to you?" I asked. I tried to sound calm, but hope was lifting my spirits. "I mean, could it bind their heart to you?"

She laughed. "Nah, dis spancel don' bind de heart. And it kyan only bind a man when him tied wit' it. Once yuh unbind him, him not stay wit' yuh." She looked keenly at me. "Spancel won't help yuh wit' James."

I flushed with embarrassment. "I only thought . . . perhaps, since you had woven strands of my hair into it . . ."

Tia Dalma shook her head. "I'm weavin' it so dat yuh will be de only person who kyan use it. Remember – don' let anodder person use de spancel – it is for yuh own use," she emphasized.

"And why are you weaving it for me?" I asked.

"Yuh will have need of it," she replied. "It's time for yuh to fulfil de second t'ing I ask yuh."

"To bring you something you need?"

She nodded. "Barbossa. Yuh still willin'?"

Her answer shocked me, but I was determined to stand by my promise. "Yes," I replied, fighting down a ripple of panic at the sound of his name. "I stand ready to keep my promise." I hesitated, but then added, "But, Tia Dalma, I truly think he may try to take my life."

"Nah, him kyan do nothin' to yuh – him already dead. Shot t'ru de heart by Witty Jack." Having presented me with this astounding news in a very offhand manner, she hastened to explain my task.

I was to travel in a small boat with two shadowy individuals she called "helpers" to a cave where I would find Barbossa's body. There was no reason for me to fear the helpers, but I was also not to speak to them under any circumstances. I was to bind Barbossa's corpse with the spancel in a way that she would show me, and the helpers would transport us back to Tia Dalma's shack. She asked if I had any questions.

"Are you certain Barbossa is dead?" I asked her. The thought of encountering my adversary worried me even more than the prospect of an unknown journey with supernatural companions. "I thought that none of the men could die, because of the cursed gold."

"De curse be broken, dear wan, wit' the help of Witty Jack. And de moment after him break de curse, him shoot Barbossa and tek back de_ Pearl_." She smiled. "Soon I t'ink him will send yuh all de t'ings Barbossa stole from yuh."

I rejoiced inwardly that what had lately seemed to me impossible had now come to pass. But I was more puzzled than ever as to the reason for the second task. "If you please, Tia Dalma, why do you want his corpse? What will you do with it?"

"I 'ave de power to recall him to de world of de livin'. Him needed for important matters, an' de outcome is still uncertain. Barbossa needed by you, me, de Brethren Court, de Keeper of de Code, an' even Witty Jack," she replied.

I didn't like the sound of any plan that would bring Barbossa back to life, and I spent some time trying to raise objections; but in the end, Tia Dalma would not be dissuaded.

"It would seem that Mr Barbossa is indispensible," I sighed, giving up. "I will do as I've promised, and I'm happy if my efforts help you and Jack. But, if you please, who are the others you name?"

"De Brethren Court be de nine Pirate Lords. Yuh know dat Witty Jack be Pirate Lord of de Caribbean; dere be eight more, an' Captain Teague be Keeper of de Code," she smiled, then added, almost shyly, "I hold de fate of all dem pirates in me 'and. An' I must 'ave yuh help, dear wan."

If Tia Dalma, Teague, and Jack all needed Barbossa alive, I was ready to oblige them with even the most distasteful task. But I had more questions. "And why do you say that I, too, 'need' this scoundrel? If he is recalled to life, will he not remember the ransom Hanibal has offered for me?"

"Why don't yuh ask him yuhself?" she said teasingly, but then she grew serious.

"Me know yuh fear him will give yuh over to be killed. But dis be de path yuh must tek if yuh gwan defeat yuh uncle." She paused, then leaned towards me and spoke very seriously. "Someone mus' stop Hanibal. Him destroyin' Pencarren, settin' snares to draw ships to de rocks, an' after him take all dey carry, him take all dere lives."

As she spoke, Tia Dalma seemed to grow much larger in the candlelight. "Him turnin' de waters – my waters – red wit' innocent blood," she added, her mouth tightening into a grim line, and her eyes burning with an ominous dark fire.

"Now him seekin' powers beyond dose of men," she continued, shaking her head slowly, "But not beyond me. I will help yuh end him evil deeds and avenge yuhself an' yuh family. Me heart always been righteous, even in ancient times, when me set free him dat me love."

She fell silent for a moment, and then turned to touch the spancel on her loom. "Do yuh not see dat Barbossa may be useful?" she asked quietly.

I could not see how this prospect would answer to any design. "How? Barbossa despises me and tried to kill me. He would hardly give heed to any word of mine. How can he be useful to me? There are other ways to reach Pencarren, and you said that I myself have the power to defeat Hanibal."

"Power not as simple as yuh t'ink," Tia Dalma replied with a slight chuckle. "Yuh need de means to use it, an' yuh need de right moment, or it nah help yuh."

Then she smiled and patted my hand. "Yuh have de power, but yuh gwan need Barbossa – him have a part to play in dis. Heed de counsel me give yuh. An' don' fret dat him gwan harm yuh. Him always listen to flattery, dear wan," she offered.

Then, turning the conversation to other matters, she left me to puzzle out her meaning.

That night as I lay abed, it came to me that Barbossa would be in quite a low state upon being revived. The cursed gold had been returned to the Chest of Cortez, and Jack had taken the _Pearl_, leaving him utterly empty-handed. He would be in dire need of replenishing his treasure.

Next, I thought of Hanibal's massive pile of bloody riches, and also the fact that Barbossa hated Hanibal nearly as much as I did. Slowly, the outlines of a plan were beginning to suggest themselves; the double lure of easy riches and an opportunity to exact revenge would be hard for Barbossa to resist.

If Barbossa decided to act upon the information from Bootstrap, his implacable hatred of Hanibal might drive him to use me to acquire my uncle's gold, and then afterwards to kill him. There were many questions remaining, not the least of which was how I could deal with my inconvenient ally afterwards, but here I put my trust in Tia Dalma's assistance – surely more possibilities would present themselves as future events unfolded.

I also considered the distance to Cornwall; if I were brought over as a captive for ransom, I would be treated as cargo of some value. Therefore, I would likely travel under reasonably comfortable conditions, instead of being shackled in the brig or travelling as a stowaway.

Within the week, the spancel was complete, and Tia Dalma sent me on my fearful journey. Despite her reassurance, I was terribly, instinctively, frightened of the two helpers, who moved about in the same fashion as mortal men, but had the appearance of mute, flickering silhouettes.

I kept silent as the small boat took me on a voyage that seemed to last for days, although time passed for me as for one in a waking dream and, try as I might, I could not reckon the passage, or even the direction, of time. The helpers stood motionless like shadowy pillars at each end of the boat, neither rowing nor hoisting sail of any kind; instead, the boat seemed to move upon the water as if held from below by some titanic, supernatural hand that steered it. No physical need oppressed me – neither thirst, nor hunger, nor weariness. I travelled as though I were a ghost myself, freed from all human wants.

Finally, on a night that would have done credit to the most eerie tale, I arrived at Isla de Muerta. There was not another craft in sight, only the wrecked hulls that were sunk in the shallows surrounding the island. Despite the utter desolation of the place, a heavy haze of smoke still hung over the water and, as we glided towards shore, I could smell gunpowder as though a battle had taken place only hours before.

The boat drew up on the shore and stopped moving. I disembarked and made my way to the watery entrance of the cave. Dim lights flickered from deep within its passages, guiding me to the chamber that held both the cursed treasure and Barbossa's mortal remains – the object of my gruesome expedition.

I followed the winding passage, sometimes walking and sometimes wading, but always alert for any sign of activity within the cavern. Yet listen as I would, only silence and a great stillness surrounded me.

At last I found the huge chamber, where my eyes were greeted by an immense mountain of treasure, crowned at its peak by the infamous Chest of Cortez. Not a living soul remained: the chamber was utterly abandoned. I lowered my gaze to the spot where the pile of gold nearly touched the water. Immediately, with a small shock, I spied my persecutor's corpse, exactly where Tia Dalma had said it would be.

Taking up a flickering lantern that had been left on the cave's sandy floor, I made my way over to where Barbossa lay, half expecting him to spring up and attack. But his body was still and silent as I moved the lantern closer to his face. The features of the merciless brigand who had threatened my life now looked strangely gentled by the grim hand of death. He looked as though he had fallen mere moments before my arrival, though I knew that such a thing was impossible. His body showed no sign of decay, although his skin was unnaturally pale. His blue eyes looked mild and full of wonder as they gazed ahead, unseeing.

Hesitantly, I tugged the collar of his shirt aside to reveal the bloody wound through his heart. Jack was square with him at last; yet somehow, this moment that I had sought so eagerly only filled me with melancholy and a peculiar twinge of regret.

I looked around quickly to see what else he might have brought with him to the cave, and my eye fell upon a bonny green apple floating in the water nearby, evidently fallen from my enemy's dead fingers. I began to piece events together.

Barbossa must have been certain he would leave the cave free of the curse, to sate his appetites with all the pleasures so long denied him. And yet, I thought, it was not fine brandy or rich viands, but this apple, so lately held in his living hand, that was chosen to celebrate the beginning of his new, dearly bought life.

I glanced about at the friendless dead man in the deserted cave, and the mountain of useless gold by which he had sought to ransom the taste of a mere apple. My thoughts were drawn by some resistless power to memories of my father, waylaid at night on Bodmin Moor. How different a man from Barbossa! Yet he, too, had died desolate and alone, like the poor corpse now lying at my feet. Sadness welled up in me and I felt the sting of tears in my eyes as stupidly, uselessly, I began to cry.

Brushing my hand across my face, I composed myself, drew out the spancel, and set to work following Tia Dalma's instructions. I placed the midpoint of the spancel at the crown of his head, and then ran the ends down through the sleeves of his waistcoat, wrapping the fine weave around each hand. I drew the ends further down and tied them around his boots somewhat in the manner of stirrups. Finally, I brought the ends together so the spancel encircled him without a break. I gathered his hat, the cut plumes from it, his weapons, and even the apple, all of which I piled onto his chest. Hoping that I had forgotten nothing, I pulled him slowly into the water, trying to be as gentle as I could. He seemed to float easily, and by wading through the shallow channel, I managed to pilot my macabre burden out of the cave.

As Tia Dalma had promised, the small boat was drawn up just outside, with a ghostly light shining from its single lantern. The two helpers advanced toward me, and took Barbossa's lifeless figure from the water.

The boat did not seem large enough for all our company, but the helpers seated me on a low pillow towards the stern, my legs extended forward. Then they hoisted Barbossa into the boat so that his head rested in my lap, and my legs supported his shoulders and torso. They quickly pushed the boat out to sea, leaping into the bow and stern as she began to move through the water once more. It struck me that I would have to travel the entire distance back to the Pantano River with Barbossa in this posture, for all the world like sweethearts drifting down the Serpentine.

I closed his eyes with a light touch of my fingers. Then I followed Tia Dalma's final instruction: I slipped my own hand between the spancel and Barbossa, to bind him to the only bit of the Living World aboard that phantom craft.

We passed through each day like a shimmering mirage on the bright water, but as night fell, the small sickly lantern would glow once more, and our appearance would transform to that of a ghost boat. As before, I had no awareness of physical need or discomfort; I felt a dreamlike, meditative patience settle over me, and I sat contentedly as the boat ferried me back to the Pantano.

As we drifted on our way, I made a study of Barbossa's ravaged face, which prompted my feelings towards greater sympathy. His aging skin was covered with a multitude of fine wrinkles, deeper creases, and areas of brown mottled discolouration, from years under the harsh sun and strong winds of the open ocean. I supposed that he must have looked quite a fine man in his youth, with the high bridge of his nose and the proud way I recalled him always lifting his chin. But now that nose looked as though it had been broken more than once, and its appearance was further marred by the damage to his skin. His full cheeks were pockmarked and freckled, and one side bore a prominent white scar that reached from just below his eye to his moustache. Its shape and size reminded me of some scars borne by soldiers who had survived a glancing thrust from a bayonet. His beard and moustache were ragged and uneven, but I could see that Barbossa kept them trimmed in a way that he must have felt flattered him, particularly the long, dramatic curves at the ends of his moustache that drooped over the corners of his generous mouth and emphasized the fullness of his lower lip.

I wondered if he took pains over the appearance of his sparse beard partly to draw attention away from his scarred face. I decided that, all in all, he had an attractive mouth, wide and with a bowed upper lip, and recalled that he used to smile (although rarely) in a way that I liked, despite my aversion to him. More often, I had watched the corners of his mouth turn down as he scowled, which pulled his mouth slightly to one side.

With fear now absent, I found myself more than once idly smoothing the furrows in his forehead and between his heavy eyebrows. Then I would draw my finger along each eyebrow, and brush any stray hairs off his face, though I knew he could not feel them. At other times, I would rest my palm against the side of his jaw, or let my hands drape over his shoulders. I grew accustomed to the heavy weight of his body upon my legs, and throughout the entire phantasmal journey, this burden produced no fatigue or pain in me. I wondered what Tia Dalma intended to do after she revived Barbossa, but arrived at no answers.

On about the tenth evening, as near as I can reckon it, we reached the shack, and the two shadowy forms lifted Barbossa out of the boat. I did not see them climb the ladder or enter the shack ahead of me, but I found them in the small room off the parlour, with Tia Dalma directing them.

The two helpers laid the body upon the bed, and departed without a word. Tia Dalma arranged Barbossa's hands, palms upward, at his sides, and checked that the spancel was wound about him to her satisfaction. I stood in the doorway, my eyes fixed on his bloody shirt.

Glancing at my face, she chuckled, "Don' look so sad, dear! Him only be taking a little rest. It will all be needed when Tia Dalma put 'im to work."

"I'm not sad," I insisted, yet my anticipated joy at Barbossa's demise had been replaced by confusion and conflicting impulses: Tia Dalma's words were truer than my own.

"Leave me wit' him. I will call yuh when I need yuh." She waved me out of the door.

I retreated from the room, as she began a sort of continual whisper, moving here and there around the pirate's corpse.

After some time had passed, and the evening sky darkened into night, she summoned me back and, signing for me to be silent, motioned me to sit on a chair near the bed. Nothing seemed changed, save for a heavy compress that had been placed over the dead man's eyes. Once again I gazed upon the bloody shirt, but as I stared, the bloodstain seemed slowly to shrink, and then to grow paler, finally shrivelling to a point, and then disappearing. The small room was quiet except for the sound of cicadas outside the house, and the occasional snapping sound of the candle flames.

All at once, with a suddenness that made me jump, Barbossa took a single, great, rattling breath. A pause of several minutes ensued as he lay motionless with his lips parted, and I watched, my nerves raw with tension. Once more I flinched as he drew another violent breath, followed again by a long pause. This was repeated three more times, and then he began to breathe peacefully, as if in slumber.

I was relieved to hear no more desperate, jolting rasps, and turned to find Tia Dalma smiling at my astonishment.

"Tia Dalma has de power to do dese t'ings when de person is only _dead_, but not when him have left de world of de livin' for de place of judgment. Dis is not somet'ing I kyan teach yuh, though yuh been a good student. It is me power alone. Now keep watch, while I fix a little nourishin' food." Reaching for the compress she added, "Don' worry, an' don' speak; he don' see yuh." She left the room, her feet gliding silently.

I sat quietly in the chair, the room flickering in the light of the candles. Sometimes I wasn't sure if Barbossa had moved or if it was a trick of the light. With a pang of longing, I wished that Tia Dalma had been at hand to bring my father back. But that was long ago, and the hurt, although deep, had been dulled by the passage of so many years.

I began to wonder if Barbossa's heart truly beat in his breast, or whether he was now in a new and terrible state that some voodoo priests are known to invoke.

Gingerly, I reached for the collar of his shirt, and adjusted it so that I could see where the shot had found its mark. The skin was unbroken by even the hint of a wound. I touched his cold chest, trying to feel a heartbeat, but the pulse in my own fingers masked any sign from him. I looked around to see if Tia Dalma was returning, but the shack was silent. Pulling my hair to one side, I slowly lowered my head, so that my ear rested against his ribs. As I heard the faint sound of his heart, I felt an unwonted relief, which I attributed to my joy at the prospect of Hanibal's defeat. _Keep in health, sir, _I thought, hardening my resolve, _if that helps me to my ends. And then I'll square accounts with you._

Just then, he made a slight convulsive movement and groaned. I jerked my head back. His hands moved weakly, and he seemed to gesture anxiously towards his eyes. Despite my ill intentions, I was yet moved to pity by his evident distress. I knew the spancel would bind him from moving, or even truly waking, until the moment Tia Dalma would release him. Impulsively taking hold of his icy hands, I tried to cover them with my palms for warmth.

"Am I livin' or dead?" he muttered plaintively. But Tia Dalma had forbidden me to speak, so I said nothing.

"Tell me!" he insisted in a hoarse whisper, "Where be this place? Who are ye? Is the curse still bindin' me?" His anguish wrung my heart; in my own life, fear was a familiar companion, and I heard it now in Barbossa's voice. Trying to soothe him, I released his hands, and leaned forward to touch his shoulder. He clutched at me, and made a faltering effort to pull me back down to his chest. Although being grasped at like this caused my old terror to return, pity for his helplessness prevented me from resisting.

_After all,_ I thought, _this brigand's body has been resting against my own for almost a fortnight, and no harm has come to me. Surely I can show charity to a fellow creature in such sore straits._ And so I simply remained there, tense and motionless, half seated in my chair and half held close by the forceless grip of his hands. He lay quite still, but his fingertips strayed across my hair. At last, he moved his hand very feebly to his waistcoat, and slowly, clumsily, withdrew a small, sharp object. I gently disengaged myself and took the object from his hand.

It was the pin from my hair that I had used to pick the lock on my cabin door. He spoke so faintly I could barely hear the words. "I know ye, little bird," he murmured, "ye opened your cage and flew away."

I waited, but he said no more, and seemed to sleep. I was so affected by this strange encounter that I hardly dared look at him. Though I was free of his grasp, strange and unaccustomed promptings threatened to lay hold of my emotions. I lingered a moment longer at his side for no reason that I could discern, before making my way out of the room.

_Remember,_ I cautioned myself. _Remember what he did to Bootstrap, and be warned._

* * *

Next: Chapter 11 - "Jack Need Yuh Help" - In which a journey for the sake of friendship leads to an unexpected meeting.


	11. Jack Need Yuh Help

**********Disclaimer:** I have no claim whatsoever to any part of the Pirates of the Caribbean franchise. The original characters and original plots are owned by me.

* * *

**"Jack Need Yuh Help"**

The very next morning, I descended the stairs expecting to prepare breakfast, but instead, I found a familiar-looking sack upon the table, filled with my long-lost stolen belongings. Everything – weapons, badge, locket and books – had been sent to me by my dearest friend, the new and rightful captain of the _Pearl_.

Seated at her loom, Tia Dalma smiled at my delighted appreciation. Then she proffered a letter which had accompanied this bounty; it was sealed with a dirty blob of wax, and addressed to me in Jack's distinctive hand. He invited me to join him ("_Wish you were here_," as I recall his words) in Constantinople, where he planned to use the clues from my vision to find the mysterious cloth.

As I stood contemplating Jack's letter, I heard Tia Dalma draw near, whispering into her hands. Next came a dry, clattering noise, as she cast a handful of crab shells upon the table. I turned to see her studying the result with a foreboding expression that made my blood turn cold.

"Mek haste," she urged me. "Witty Jack need yuh help." Impelled by her warning, I set out for Anatolia that very morning, intent on helping my friend in whatever way I could.

Several weeks later, I was standing on the deck of the _Pearl _with Joshamee Gibbs. "It hasn't gone exactly accordin' to plan," Mr Gibbs said to me_._ We were discussing the reasons that Jack's ship was laying by in Turkish waters whilst my closest friend languished in a monstrous prison.

"And what, exactly, was the plan?" I asked him. "Jack sent me a letter weeks ago to get me here – there must have been some design in place. What happened?"

"Well, you know Jack . . . t'was more of an idea he were workin' out as events unfolded. Trouble is, they didn't unfold quite as expected. He's got himself inside right enough, but . . ." Mr Gibbs shook his head and took another swig of rum. "T'is nigh on two weeks we've been waitin' for him," he warned, turning a worried eye towards the near-empty bottle in his hand. "Provisions be runnin' a bit low."

"One week is more than enough," I exclaimed. "Do you know if he's found the, um . . .?"

"Don't even rightly know what it is he's after," Mr Gibbs replied. "Played this close, he did. Between you 'n' me, something's not quite right with Jack. He's been . . . distracted, y' might say – more than usual," he quickly added.

I nodded and tried to think how I might help. "Do they have the same sort of garnish system as England? Do the prisoners have to buy food and candles and such?"

"T'is my understandin' that they do, in a manner of speakin'. But they also force the poor devils to beg alms for the means to purchase their necessities," he replied. "At least, them that ain't locked in the cages hangin' along the bridge. The ones in the cages ain't fit for naught but the boneyard."

I shuddered, wondering where Jack was and hoping I could find him in time. After a few more hours of thought, I had the beginnings of a plan. Unfortunately, it required a great deal of something more in Jack's line and less in mine; making things up as you go along.

And thus it was that on the thirteenth day of the month, I found myself standing outside the gates of the prison in the smoky morning air, amidst a crowd of expectant merchants. I was well veiled and robed over my usual boy's attire, and I carried a large, shallow basket filled with ripe dates and little jars of olive oil, discreetly covering other items that might prove useful. Unhappily, I had been forced to leave my scimitar on the _Pearl_, since I could not find a way to conceal it that would not immediately invite suspicion and probable unmasking.

I waited, surveying the walls, which had been made from rough stones centuries ago, and tried to map the plan of the prison in my mind. I counted at least four storeys in the square tower nearest the gates, with much higher towers elsewhere; clearly, many sections and battlements had been added over the years, which gave the prison an irregular, haphazard appearance. A few stonemasons were repairing a cleft in one section of the wall at the top storey, working from the most rickety scaffolding I had ever seen. Round, turreted towers projected from the other three corners of the main enclosure. _Stairs, probably,_ I thought,_ their administrators likely work in the square tower._ After what seemed an eternity, the gates slowly swung open and we were allowed inside.

They admitted us to a small, dirty courtyard, via a narrow drawbridge over a water-filled ditch. Here the more fortunate of the prisoners sat or walked aimlessly, overseen by most of the prison guards. The guards were accustomed to using this daily event for their own recreation, talking to some of the merchants and making their own purchases. This courtyard was one of two contained within the walls. On the far side of the second courtyard, another bridge, set high over turbulent, rock-filled waters, led to the tower reserved for traitors – those prisoners subject to blinding, and kept in cages until death freed them. I shuddered as I drifted about the area, occasionally selling oil and dates. There was no sign of Jack.

On my left and just inside the outer gate, I noticed an arched entry that seemed to lead into cramped passages where cells might be located. On my next circuit of the courtyard, I kept pace with a large fishmonger in voluminous robes. As we reached the archway, I made a quick turn and vanished, dates and all, into the recesses of the prison.

Once inside, I threw off my veils and hurried through the passageways carrying my basket and casting my eyes quickly to each side, hoping to see Jack in one of the cells. When I reached the end of the passage, I would dart into the small round tower, taking the stairs at a run, and emerge at the next higher level. At last I came to the fourth and highest storey. I could hear voices at the end of the corridor, and realised that they belonged to the stonemasons I had seen earlier. They were preparing to work on a large breach in the wall, easily the size of a doorway, but the only thing on the other side of that doorway was an unimpeded descent – four storeys straight down.

I searched along the last row of cells and noticed one prisoner shackled to the wall, his arms bare to the elbows. Though his head was bowed, Jack's familiar tattoos were plainly visible. I rushed to the cell door and fished an iron pick from my basket. As I touched the lock, Jack looked up quickly, with a strained, hunted expression that startled me. But an instant later he recognised me and quickly brightened, shaking his head.

"Haven't got it yet, mouse," he whispered. "But I need it – the cloth's an exact drawing of the key. And speakin' of keys, can you get me out of these?" He indicated his shackles. I had already opened the door and begun work on them, but now I paused.

"You don't have it?" I whispered. "Where is it? Where is the governor of this place?"

"On this very level," he replied. "I'm havin' a bit of a time seeing him, if you must know. Especially today. He's locked up inside his quarters so that bad luck can't get to him, and I'm locked up outside said quarters, so I can't get to the drawing. So it all balances out, really. Ah, could we just finish with the shackles, love? Don't let me distract you."

I recalled that every guard wore a _nazar_ amulet about his neck. "Are you saying he's as superstitious as the rest of his men? Is he hiding because it's the thirteenth? Are his quarters in the square tower?" I enquired, the pick idle in my hands.

"Yes, yes and yes. And now that we've satisfied your curiosity, love, have I mentioned how _not_ fond I am of being shackled?"

I put the pick back amongst the dates and withdrew a dagger and a small grenado from my basket, adding them to the pistols already hidden in my clothes. "Interesting wares you've got, but I'm bound to say I prefer the pick for unlocking these bracelets," suggested Jack.

"Not yet," I replied. "I know you won't leave without the drawing of this cursed key, but you're running out of time. Let me help you – I'll fetch the drawing, and we'll make our escape together."

Jack expostulated. "You've got to be subtle, love, savvy? S-u-b-t-l-e, not ferocious! One mistake and we're for the chop!"

"You know I'm better at ferocious." I was ready to fight an army of Turks to help Jack.

"You and Barbossa, darlin'," he shouted after me as I ran back to the stairwell. "And look what it got him!"

I crossed through another archway and almost collided with the guard at the door to the governor's quarters. He had drawn his pistol and I knocked his arm upwards to ward off the shot as he fired. The ball ricocheted off the stone wall, missing an iron torch, and lodged in his back. "Perhaps today _is_ unlucky," I said to him, as he dropped to the floor. I aimed my pistol at the door latch and the resulting shot shattered the old lock. I lit the grenado and hurled it into the room, where it exploded with a great bang, filling the room with a heavy cloud of smoke.

Entering the room screened by the choking cloud of smoke, I crouched down and quickly crossed to a large, barely-visible table – the governor's desk – whence I heard the sound of coughing. I drew my second pistol as I straightened up, and I glimpsed the governor peering through the smoke, his pistol ready to return fire. An arsenal of weapons was spread on the table before him. I dropped below the desk just before he fired, and the thick table deflected his shot. I jumped up at once and swept the desk with one hand as I fired my pistol with the other. He fell to the floor. I drew my dagger, cut open his robe and pulled out the drawing, tucking it into my clothes. Taking a pistol and a blunderbuss from the scattered firearms on the floor, I ran from the room.

Sounds below indicated that the guards had heard the noise of my enterprise. As I reached Jack's cell, I called out, "Don't move!" and aimed the blunderbuss at the ring holding the chain of his shackles. The blast destroyed the ring and broke the chain, causing bits of iron and stone to fly everywhere. One sharp fragment stung the centre of my chin, just under my lower lip. Jack still had a cuff on each hand, but was no longer chained to the wall.

"What happened to subtlety?" he demanded. "Or is your plan to render everyone deaf?"

"I'll have you know that the first shot was not mine," I retorted. "I made every effort to be subtle."

"You know you're not there yet, do you, love?" he informed me, taking the drawing and the pistol. "Now let's leg it," he said.

We ran, accidentally kicking the basket into the corridor, where its contents spilled forth, covering the tiled floor with a large, oily mess of dates and broken clay jars. As we neared the stairwell, we heard guards shouting as they charged up the steps to capture us. We turned in panic and ran back the other way, only to lose our footing on the slippery floor. We were travelling at such a rate that we skidded, crashed to the floor, and slid on our backs to the end of the passage and straight through the open wall where the stonemasons were working.

I screamed as we were ejected onto the scaffolding. Jack grabbed my wrist with one hand and caught the top of the scaffolding with the other as the entire structure creaked alarmingly and then pulled loose from the wall. We both yelled as it first tipped, and then began to fall towards the ground. The scaffolding swung down in a tremendous arc that carried us away from the building and into a stand of trees outside the prison compound. For a moment, Jack and I hung face to face on either side of a sturdy limb, holding each other by the wrists in the manner favoured by acrobats. As we exchanged alarmed looks, we heard the unmistakable crack of the limb breaking.

It gave way and deposited us in a large wooden wagon, startling the old cart horse, which took to its heels at a brisk walk along the usual route. I looked at the wagon's contents in horror. "Coffins!" I exclaimed.

Jack was staring at me. "Bit of a cut you've got there," he said, and wiped his thumb across my chin, which made me wince. "See?" He held up his thumb, which was covered with a great deal of blood. I patted my face with the edge of my sleeve, which also came away bloodied. I placed my fingers over the spot that hurt, and felt the outline of a small, open gash, perhaps an inch in length.

"I'd best cover this until I'm aboard ship. I've to make my way to the docks from here," I said.

Jack pried the lid off one of the coffins. "Or you could come along back to the _Pearl_ with me." He jumped in beside the coffin's bony occupant. "Care to make it three of us? I'll push me mate aside and you can keep Captain Jack warm, eh, darlin'?"

"Don't trouble," I assured him with a shudder. Then I threw my arms around his neck. "Good luck to you, Jack. Please look after yourself – you're all I have in the way of family now."

Jack glanced at my hair, then picked a sticky blob from it. "Mmm! Date!" he explained, popping it into his mouth.

As I made ready to climb out of the wagon, Jack glanced at the skeleton beside him, and though his words had been light-hearted, I saw the haunted look return to his eyes before he shut the lid. As I dropped to the ground, the wagon continued on along the path towards the water's edge.

I got my bearings and walked for the rest of the day towards a small port town, avoiding the road. Just outside the town, I encountered a brilliant blue and gold macaw perched upon the crumpled sack of my belongings.

"Jack's on his way," I informed Cotton's parrot. He took to his wings at once. Mr Gibbs would now be on notice that Jack's return to the ship was imminent.

I checked that my scimitar and other property was safely stowed in my sack, and added my pistols and the Turkish dagger. Then I hoisted it on to my shoulder and disappeared through the evening shadows and into the _souk_, stealing new clothes as I went. When I reached the docks, I joined a number of men loading cargo aboard a ship bound for Cadiz; upon stowing the last crate, I hid myself in the hold. Once in the bustling port of Cadiz, I employed the same ruse, and managed to stow away upon the largest ship that I could discover bound for the West Indies.

A large ship may have more than one stowaway, and introductions amongst these circles are managed with some care. On our second day out, I spied an old man rooting through a barrel of oranges in the hold, and judged him to be unknown to me and harmless in aspect. Therefore, in my boy's attire, I allowed myself to be discovered by him the next day, engaged in removing an orange from that same barrel. We sat in a corner of the hold, eating the pilfered oranges and talking of home. He proved to be a fellow countryman from Bristol, by way of London. Being wanted in England for stealing bread, he took the decision to cut along to the Indies, rather than swing for it at home.

"Nasty wound ye have there," he volunteered, nodding at my chin.

"From shaving," I answered, raising my hand to my chin as I tried to pitch my voice low. He laughed.

"Well, by damn, ye could have saved yerself the trouble," he chuckled, scratching his own bewhiskered face. "Ye've no more beard than a maid! Meanin' no offense, laddie," he added. He gathered the orange peels and stowed them behind some crates; then he revealed that a third stowaway was travelling with us.

"There be another aboard," he confided, "but 'e don't fancy sustenance nor baccy. He's bladdered by six bells o' the forenoon watch, bein' a right unregenerate sort o' rum-hound."

Just then, we heard the sound of staggering footsteps and a body tumbling down somewhere aft in the hold. "That's 'im," said my friend, "ye can lay to that. Look sharp; I'll show ye."

We crept back towards the place whence the noise had come. A bearded man about my age lay unconscious amongst the boxes and barrels, next to a hat and disreputable wig which his fall had evidently dislodged from his head. I stared at the man sprawled before me and tried not to gawp at him as an awful suspicion took hold of me. "Did he tell you his name?" I whispered.

My friend nodded. "That 'e did. Says it's James. Mate o' yours?" I stood as if staked to the ground, heart pounding. "No," I replied.

"'E keeps to 'imself, but the rum does the talkin' for 'im." He laughed. "And wot a tale it tells! All about a pirate causin' 'is downfall, and a bonnie lass 'e thought to marry – who loves some other cove, a' course! Ha! Ha! Same old tune, innit?" he winked.

James' appearance produced an effect upon me similar to that which obtains from gazing at the wreck of a once-noble ship. He was so exceedingly dirty and ill-groomed that I had almost failed to recognise him. His hair was filthy and uncombed, whilst his formerly handsome features were puffy and reddened from drink. The collar of his grimy uniform was open and he wore no stock about his neck, which, below the coarse beard he had grown, was bare and glistening with sweat. Only the angle of his brows and something about the curve of his upper lip told me that the man lying before me in drunken repose was none other than James Norrington.

"Did he mention her name?" I asked, my curiosity getting the upper hand. "The . . . lass who loved another?"

"Apple of 'is eye, y'mean? Elizabeth, I think 'e said." My companion shrugged; but a wave of jealousy smote me, making my eyes flash.

He went on, unaware of the tumult in my breast. "Well, we know what women are. Only we can't get on without 'em, eh, lad?" he said, nudging me. I wished that I had not asked him for her name, as my heart instantly filled with spite for all women named "Elizabeth".

James, who had been snoring freely, suddenly opened his eyes. I had always foolishly believed that our forced separation had grieved him as it had me; and that he thought of me as frequently as I yearned for him over the years. My hopes, however, were dashed in an instant: he pulled himself up to a sitting position and looked straight into my eyes with a hostile, sullen glare, and not a flicker of recognition.

"What are you _staring_ at, boy?" he demanded coldly, slurring his words. "Came to see The Man With No _Life_, did you? Take a good look, you wretched urchin. S'all gone . . . s'all _ruined_." I tried to back away, but he seized my arm. The old man nodded reassuringly and signed to me with winks and gestures to let James talk.

James fixed his black eyes upon me in the overly familiar manner common to many inebriates and continued his rambling speech, scowling angrily and giving my arm a shake whenever he emphasised a word. "It's because of _him_. _All_ of it," he declared in a quiet, hostile voice. "The worst pirate, the _worst . . ._ _pirate . . ._ I ever heard of." He paused, then, with a dark look, muttered, "He was to be hanged. Why was he not hanged?"

The old man tried to take his arm, but James shook him off.

"_She_," he continued, with a disagreeable smile, "_she_ thinks the filthy pirate saved her. For what?" He poked me with his finger as he answered himself. "For a_ blacksmith!_"

I pulled away from him and he sank back down again. "I'd have moved heav'n and earth . . ." he murmured. Then his anger stirred again, and he added in a loud voice, "A common, low-born _blacksmith_ . . ."

My companion winked at me as he coaxed James to name his lady love. "Soft, soft; let's not bring the 'ole crew down 'ere with all your noise. Who's the lass wot threw' 'erself at the smith? Tell us 'er name like a good lad, eh?"

James lay back, his head lolling slightly from side to side. "You _know_ her name . . ." he said indistinctly. "'Liz'beth. 'Liz'beth Swann." His words trailed off, and he closed his eyes.

The sound of my rival's name went through me as if it were a knife. The intervening years suddenly vanished, and I was once again the girl James had abandoned; not important enough for him to fight for, not loved enough for him to remember. On the verge of tears, I excused myself from my friend, wanting to be alone and give vent to my feelings in private.

I managed to avoid James for the rest of our voyage, but the shock of our unexpected meeting forced me to face the truth regarding our attachment. At seventeen, we had become engaged because the idea of it was entrancing to us both, but neither he nor I had the experience to see that what we felt was but a shallow sort of attraction, lacking real depth and understanding.

As I reflected on those years, I wondered how I could have been so taken with a boy I hardly knew. Dances, balls, visits, a few letters; our encounters were all well-chaperoned. He was, by far, the most utterly handsome young man I had ever met, and I knew now that I had simply been in love with Love.

In turn, to James I had been a pleasant and suitable choice which he likely hoped would please his demanding father. It was only later in life that he had found the only woman who truly mattered to him, and that was Elizabeth Swann. She possessed his heart in a way I never had, nor ever would. Tia Dalma had been right; the time had come, and I grasped the truth at last.

Once I had come to terms with the loss of my illusions, I even acknowledged a certain modicum of sympathy for James, whose hopeless love had brought him so low. In comparison, the wounds to my affections were slight, as Tia Dalma had foretold. I would recover, and I determined to guard my heart in the future, letting no handsome gallant turn my head again.

I thought of my friend Jack, who had tried to spare me distress, cautioning me that James and I were ill-matched. Jack and his father, I realised, were the only people truly bound to me in friendship and mutual affection – apart from them I had no home or family.

I fretted about Jack's safety and his state of mind, hoping that he would find the key he was seeking; but in Constantinople there had been a look of dread in his eyes that I had never seen – as if a monster were hunting him. I was at a loss as to how I might help him; and so, as my friend faced a peril I could not imagine, I was reluctantly making my way back through a dark and empty world to the little shack on the Pantano River, where Tia Dalma and the fearsome Barbossa awaited.

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Next week: Chapter 12 - An Arrival and a Departure - In which two old adversaries meet again after ten years.


	12. An Arrival and a Departure

******Disclaimer:** I have no claim whatsoever to any part of the Pirates of the Caribbean franchise. The original characters and original plots are owned by me.

**Special Thanks:** I want to take a moment to thank my extraordinary beta, Freedom of the Seas, for her guiding hand, hard work and dedication to this story! Thirty-two chapters is quite a lot to deal with, but she stayed the course to the end! _Thank you, Freedom!_

**A/N:** Although I usually thank my reviewers by PM, I would also like to extend publicly my deepest thanks to everyone who has left a review (in some cases, much more than one). If you write fanfiction, you know how much reviews mean to the author, and the encouragement and inspiration they provide. Your reviews put a smile on my face and keep me writing. -_ShahbanouScheherazade_.

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**An Arrival and a Departure**

My voyage from Cadiz ended at the Spanish port of San Juan, by which time I was longing for the seclusion of Tia Dalma's shack. Still, I was occupied some weeks in making my way back to the place I considered home. All that I wish to say about my journey from San Juan to the Pantano is that a brief interval was spent in Tortuga, and by the time I took my leave from that gaudy and debauched town, I had reached a somewhat strained accord with James, and was mistress of my own heart again for the first time in many years.

By the time I arrived at the Pantano, the cut on my chin had healed into a thin, white line which I reckoned would be a permanent memento of my Anatolian adventure. I was far beyond any concern regarding such trifling scars; I did not expect to be courted again, despite Tia Dalma's fortune-telling.

She had welcomed me back with a supper of salt fish and toasted breadfruit, after which I savoured a few sugared tamarinds as we sat talking in her parlour. However, our conversation was punctuated by subdued rustling noises coming from the room where Barbossa lay. Tia Dalma, seeing my startled expression, told me that Barbossa's monkey had returned, being delivered by Jack a few days before.

"Why did Jack bring that little beast here?" I asked, disappointed that now there were two unwelcome guests instead of one. "Is Barbossa awake now? Will he be leaving soon?"

"Nah," she replied. "Him still restin'. An' him monkey quiet, too. Look," she gestured towards the room.

As I peered through the doorway, I was amazed to see the monkey perched quietly on Barbossa's booted feet, watching with an air of anxiety as the pirate lay bound in a preternatural sleep. My presence did not disturb the vigil kept by the little creature, as he waited for his master to awaken. Uneasily, I wondered whether the monkey was merely displaying the loyalty many animals show to even the most unworthy of men, or whether there were other facets to Barbossa's character that somehow inspired the monkey's faithful devotion.

Three days later, I sat alone at the parlour table, eating from a small plate of spiced chicken and peas as I listened to the sounds of the nimble little animal exploring the shelves and rafters overhead. Having exhausted his curiosity amongst those stores, he suddenly leapt from one of the beams and landed upon the table not six inches from my supper. He snatched a pea from my plate and put it in his mouth.

Something prompted me to try whether I could befriend him at all. I took another pea in my fingers and placed it in my mouth. He blinked and moved his head from side to side. I mimicked his movement. He gave a little chirp (_I certainly can't manage that_, I thought), and then came a bit closer, watching me curiously. I was delighted to have found some means of calming him in my presence. _How on earth were you ever trained, my friend,_ I wondered. I offered him another pea, which he took, and again I matched my actions to his.

The door opened to admit Tia Dalma, who smiled to see me dining with Barbossa's pet. "So yuh find de way to mek a new friend," she observed.

"Perhaps," I replied. "But I cannot imagine how one could ever tame such a wild little creature."

For some reason this greatly amused her. "Perhaps Barbossa have a way wit' wild little creatures," she said. "Perhaps him know yuh kyan not subdue dem – yah must tek dem as dey are an' let dem be true to dere nature."

"That doesn't sound much like him," I answered scornfully.

"Nah? Well, perhaps 'im have wan or two hidden side," she suggested, her mouth curving into a secret smile.

A few days later, she announced that the time had come to awaken Barbossa, in preparation for some project of her own. However, there was a slight complication.

"Dere be a matter dat need attendin' to," she told me. "An' me need to be away for one day." Unhappily, this would create a most unpleasant duty for me; in her absence, I was to prepare and bring Barbossa his meals. She saw the tension in my face, and hastened to reassure me. "Don' fear him – yuh will be safe here," she promised, patting my hand.

Her request had caused a spark of nervous agitation to race through me, but upon further thought, I decided that this was also a chance for me to test my own design. I wanted Barbossa to be enticed by the treasure and revenge he could gain by seizing and ransoming me, and to pitch upon it as his next venture. I would have to appear unsuspecting, but I might be able to turn a conversation to my advantage.

The morning Tia Dalma departed, I awoke later than I intended. Shoeless, and forgetting to braid the pigtail I usually wore, I hurried downstairs. I looked about distractedly for victuals to make Barbossa's breakfast before hastily throwing some bread, cheese, and fruit preserves upon a plate. Dissatisfied with the result, I then thought to do something especially to please him: I brought several green apples out of the larder, cutting them into slices and heaping them atop his breakfast.

I had resolved to tell Barbossa much, but not all, of my situation, hoping to ease hostilities and convince him that I had lowered my guard. I took the plate to his room, but halted at the door, seeing that he was partially reclined upon the bed and had already begun the day by partaking of rum. He gave me a sharp, suspicious look, and his grim chuckle was not encouraging.

"There she stands, alive as ye like," he muttered, "Ready t' pounce." At this, my intention to converse with him wavered, and I stood irresolute, fidgeting with the edge of the plate.

"Speak, then; how came ye here?" he continued in a louder voice, gesturing towards me with the bottle in his hand. "Rescued from the dead? Did she take ye off of a reef somewhere?"

I cleared my throat. "I was brought here after being robbed and marooned," I replied evenly. "By a friend who had suffered in similar fashion."

"Well, . . . he's squared matters now," replied Barbossa, after a pause.

"Between the two of you, yes," I spoke as pleasantly and deferentially as I could, mindful of Tia Dalma's hint about the effectiveness of flattery on him. "But you were mistaken in your reckoning of me . . ." I paused; then, with a respectful nod, added the word I knew he longed to hear from me, "_Captain_."

At this, there was some slight, indefinable change for the better in his demeanour, and I continued. "I would ask only for the chance to make matters plain to you some day. Surely a gentleman of your honour and magnanimity will graciously hear me out." I watched his reaction to my compliment as I handed him his breakfast politely, and made as if to withdraw.

"Then stay," he rejoined, putting the bottle aside and motioning to the chair near his bed. "I'll have me breakfast seasoned with a good tale, at any rate." He gave me a sidelong look.

As I arranged myself in the chair, he grunted, "Yer tresses be a good deal longer than I recollect." I froze for an instant, uncertain of his intent. "T'is a compliment, in case ye don't know," he added, with a wry, slightly mocking air.

"Thank you," I murmured, keeping my eyes down, as self-control contended with an impulse to rebuke him smartly. "How pleasant to be remembered so well."

This exchange was followed by an odd little moment of silence during which Barbossa and I stole several quick glances at one another that were equal parts suspicion and curiosity. I began to feel a slight flush across my face as I recalled the hairpin he had kept as a memento. I saw him study my waist-length hair and the front of my shirt.

"Well, now; illuminate yer history for me, missy," he said at last, and proceeded to devour the apples with an enthusiasm that was unnerving to see. I cleared my throat, and began my story.

"The first thing I must acquaint you with is my father's name," I told him. "It was Captain Harry Houlton Bitter. We lived at Highcliffe House, which is part of the harbour estate at Pencarren."

"Oh, I could see ye was quality, right enough," Barbossa remarked, with feigned carelessness. I ignored this comment, and went on.

"My mother died soon after my birth, and my father brought me up as his sole heir and only living relative. He was lately a King's Messenger, and it pleased him that I be bred to his profession; though, to say the truth, I do not know why."

Barbossa looked ready to scoff at this. "So he were a King's Messenger, eh?" he asked. "An' how, pray tell, were ye bred t' that profession, if I may enquire? Seein' as the Messengers be military men o' distinguished record?" His challenging tone gave warning that he thought to catch me out in a lie.

"Indeed they are," I answered proudly. "And they possess proven character and unusual ability. Naturally, he had no expectation that I would become a Messenger, but he saw to it that I was schooled in the same skills that enabled him to carry out his commissions."

Barbossa lifted a questioning eyebrow. "Might that include lock-pickin'?" he enquired, with a touch of sarcasm.

"That would encompass any skill that could help me defend myself, escape confinement, or travel. I can open locks, steal necessities rather adeptly if I do say so myself, devise ways to travel swiftly and secretly, and . . ." I hesitated, omitting a few less innocuous skills. "I know how to find food in the wild, and . . . I cook," I finally added.

"I can see yer able t' slice apples," Barbossa remarked dryly.

"And, of course," I added, paying him no notice, "I was taught to use weapons from a young age, although my skills are quite poor compared to your own." He acknowledged my compliment with a slight, lordly nod.

"I saw quite a bit of the world, since I often travelled with my father on his expeditions. Naturally," I shrugged, "He would sometimes leave me at a waypoint, if his commission was too dangerous; but the happiest time was always going home." I stopped, suddenly conscious of an unwelcome lump in my throat.

"Then how came ye t' be roamin' the earth with no more 'n yer father's guns an' a few bits an' bobs? I suppose t'was all entailed?" he asked, his mouth full of the last few apple slices.

"There was no entail. My father left me everything – and my uncle seized it all. Otherwise, I would possess quite a prosperous estate and a large income from tin mine leases," I told him.

"An' when ye speak of yer uncle, that would be Hanibal, the old Judge? Ye don't expect me to believe ye knew nothing of him, now, do ye?" Barbossa asked, eating a last bit of bread.

"Hanibal Bitter is my father's brother, though unknown to me. My father never spoke so much as his name, and nowhere at Highcliffe was there a trace of him. I learned of his existence when he presented himself immediately after my father's death." I bit my lip, then surrendered more of my history in a rush of words.

"In fact, my father was murdered crossing Bodmin Moor." I quickly held up my hand to forestall any question from Barbossa that would constrain me to speak of this event.

"Hanibal took the property, ordered my fiancé to break with me, and . . ." I swallowed, thinking how many horrors I could not mention. "Other things took place. Each hour under his roof brought me closer to my grave. I escaped to the Indies, but Hanibal set a price on my head."

Barbossa drew his hand across his mouth, scattering crumbs. With eyes narrowed, he moved on to his next query. "If he took it all, as ye say, why'd he put a price on ye?"

"Because I escaped before he could complete my destruction," I retorted, my expression hardening. I added, "Some men seem disinclined to be thwarted, do they not?" Barbossa made a dismissive gesture.

"An' what might be the name o' yer young man?" he asked in a jocular tone that seemed callous to my ears. "The one that yer uncle sent away like a tame rabbit."

"James Norrington," I answered, thinking that I had not spoken his name aloud for some time, not even to Tia Dalma. "Recently he himself has been cruelly disappointed by a lady named Elizabeth Swann." Barbossa threw me a startled glance, then lowered his eyes to the empty plate in his hand. I had tried to conceal my jealousy as I spoke Miss Swann's name, but I had yet to learn that Barbossa was every bit as observant as Jack, and Miss Swann was no stranger to him.

"So how came ye t' be on the_ Pearl_ with Sparrow?" he enquired, and it seemed to me that the manner in which he spoke of Jack was not far different than my own when speaking of Miss Swann.

"I lived in Port Royal using another name," I said. "And Jack found me there, friendless and alone. He took me on, because . . . because of a longstanding bond between us," I answered, cautiously. "But I always feared discovery, even aboard the _Pearl_." I looked down at my lap, where I held my hands tightly clasped. Having told much of the truth to Barbossa, it was now time for a little prevarication. I took a breath and plunged ahead.

"Strange to say," I remarked, "When you seized the ship and I . . . _left _her, you placed me in your debt, if I regard it honestly. My uncle will have stopped seeking me, because the trail ends with my disappearing into the ocean." I looked up and smiled at him. "Do you see? Because of you, Hanibal does not know that his niece still lives."

There was a long silence, during which Barbossa frowned and regarded me very closely. I saw his eyes rest upon the scar on my chin, but he made no remark. I waited patiently for him to interrogate me further, but when he did, I found his question an odd one.

"And ye never before heard old tales of Hanibal's doin's? Family tales, as t'were?" he asked. I sensed that I was standing upon the brink of some dark mystery concerning my family, but I could not imagine where Barbossa was leading me.

"Upon my honour, sir," I replied, in some agitation. "I never knew he had so much as entered this world before my father died. I have now learnt enough of him to wish him most speedily gone from it!"

Barbossa's expression became intensely alert, and I immediately regretted having revealed so much of my anger and fear.

"I am very sorry indeed if he has wronged you," I said, trying to regain some composure. "He has preyed upon many lives, including mine. I have lost my home, fiancé, and property. Still, I have gained the most precious thing of all – freedom." I took up his empty plate and rose to my feet. The strain of Barbossa's questioning was telling on me and I wanted to end this interview successfully, before I made some fatal misstep.

"I know that we began badly," I told him. "But I seek no quarrel with you. May we not put the past behind us? I know something of what you suffered under the gold's curse, and I believe you to be a bold and courageous man. I wish to let bygones be bygones, Captain, if it please you." I extended my hand meekly; ready even to curtsy to him if it would only put an end to his questions and distrustful glances.

After a moment, during which I suppose he contemplated the massive amount of gold for which he might ransom me, Barbossa took my hand and briefly kissed my fingers. Relieved, I smiled, and left the room.

That afternoon, I was reading the _Odyssey_ in Tia Dalma's parlour when Barbossa looked in. "Ye make a pretty picture there, missy, a-studyin' that book," he commented in a casual manner. "Perhaps ye'll read it aloud t' me this evenin', an' not pass all yer time alone?"

This offer startled me, but there was a problem. "I'm afraid it is in Latin," I said.

Barbossa crossed his arms and assumed an offended air. "Are ye sayin' I wouldn't understand ye on account o' me humble beginnin's?" he demanded. "How d'ye reckon I read most o' me charts?" Before I could apologise for my unintended slight, he withdrew to his room in no very sweet temper.

I continued to read until the setting sun left too little light to see the page. At last, putting the book aside, I rose from my chair. As I turned, I was startled to see that Barbossa had appeared once more and was watching from the doorway to his room. He stepped into the darkened parlour, and extended his hand.

"I'd have a word with ye," he said, in a tone that demanded acquiescence. I began to lean away from him, but he seized my wrist at once, and pushed me towards the outer door. As we left the shack, he took up a bottle of rum in his free hand.

"Where are we going? What is it you want?" I asked, struggling as he forced me into a canoe. I tried to get out of the boat, but Barbossa had stepped quickly aboard and pushed away from the dock. As I sat down, I looked across the water in the darkening evening gloom. I could see numerous pairs of eyes glittering back at me, and I knew the swamp's many alligators must be swimming silently nearby.

Barbossa said nothing, but steered our craft to a nearby clearing, where most of the trees had died off, leaving only black, jagged trunks rising from the swamp like spears aimed at the evening sky. He tied the canoe to one of these, and then sat opposite me. I could see nothing of his face under the broad brim of his hat.

"What are you doing?" I asked, trying to master my terror.

"Waitin' fer moonrise," he replied. He uncorked the rum and took a swig, then held out the bottle to me. I shook my head.

"While we're waitin', I'll tell ye a tale of yer uncle," he went on, in a voice that made the hairs on my neck rise.

"I was captain of me own ship in those days – workin' a short spell as a privateer, harryin' ships off the coast o' Spain an' France t' serve the King's interests; an' not a man on board was other than glad t' sail with me" he said grandly. "From the very start, I never knew aught but success, havin' learned piratin' from the most infamous scallywags o' the day, an' me crew all shared in the spoils."

He paused, then leaned towards me as he continued. "One day, we had made sure there were a clear coast, an' brought our ship up to anchor off Mousehole. All at once a ship o' the line came up abaft us. We didn't expect t' come t' an engagement, since I had me letters of marque, an' was ready t' show 'em, but they fired over the stern, so we weighed and tried t' gain headway an' make our escape.

"We had three hours of a runnin' fight, but at last their shot took the mainsail. Another carried off the jib an' there were two in her hull." His voice had taken on a harsh, grim tone as he told me this tale, reminding me of the stern and unsmiling master he was on the _Pearl._ He took another swig of rum.

"So there we were, pumpin' and bailin', but we knew we had t' quit her or die," he continued, "An' I've never been fond o' dyin'." He paused again.

"Then a longboat with eight of the King's men drew alongside with a warrant fer me an' four others, chargin' piracy against the ship _Wayfarer_, an' the murder of her passengers an' half her crew." He gave a short laugh under his breath.

"But t'was a damned lie. We had hailed the _Wayfarer _seven days before, an' boarded her. But she carried no cargo, no passengers, an' only eight hands t' crew her. Seein' she was under English colours, an' her crew all Bristol men, we let her pass," he shook his head. "Still, they'd have it that the five of us boarded her at night, robbin' an' killin' as we pleased."

He waved the bottle at me. "Mark ye; eighteen murders, said the warrant – when she'd only had eight men on her t' begin with!" He gave a contemptuous grunt. "But there was naught t' be said; they had us clapped in irons an' taken ashore. We stood trial at Launceston."

He paused and I could smell the rum on his breath each time he exhaled. "An' what d' ye think they did next? They brought out the self-same parcel o' dirty rogues we had seen on her deck, an' they swore to a man that we were the brigands as attacked their ship. The old Judge seemed t' rejoice every time he denied our objections, an' he drove the jury the way a man might drive sheep."

He held the bottle by its neck, swirling the contents for a moment. They he said, "If ever I saw the face of evil, t'was sittin' on that bench in the form o' Hanibal Bitter. He had the trial decided an' the sentence passed before we ever stepped foot before the court. We were all sentenced t' hang, an' all did, savin' m'self. I escaped, but it cost me everything — ship, fortune, letters o' marque, liberty and almost me life." His voice was tight with anger. "Damn 'em all fer lyin' dogs!" he growled, and took another swig.

"After that, I went back t' the old trade," he added defiantly. "An' done well fer meself; more plunder an' prizes than I can tell ye."

"I don't understand," I said, trying to puzzle out his story. "You know I don't dispute my uncle's character, but is it your claim that he went to the trouble of having you falsely arrested and brought in guilty for a matter of which you knew nothing? What practical reason would he have to pursue such an end?"

Barbossa shrugged. "Ye see, I was hopin' ye could tell me that – as a friend," he added sarcastically.

I thought for awhile. "Who were the people you were supposed to have murdered? Do you recall any names?"

He gave a short laugh. "Yer askin' some fine questions, I'll give ye that. Never knew all their names. The warrant said t'were ten on the passenger list, an' another eight crew, but the charges had only two names," he replied. "Those were the two we were tried and condemned on: Maude Butler an' John Trennick." He paused a moment. "Y'see, t'was Butler's an' Trennick's bodies what washed up on shore. The Judge said they had no need t' try us on all eighteen – that t' would be hangin' in any case." I shook my head; nothing in Barbossa's tale made sense.

He glanced at the sky where a perfect, radiant moon had just appeared above the treetops. "At least I can lay one question t' rest now," he said. "T'is unwise t' trust her ladyship too much." I realised he was speaking of Tia Dalma.

He removed his hat, and turned his face to the moon, giving me a sidelong look. "What d' ye see?" he demanded suspiciously.

"I see your face," I replied. "What should I see?"

He suddenly threw off his waistcoat, and pulled his shirt open at the neck. Then he violently laid hold of my hand as I tried to fight him off, and forced it flat against his naked chest. Taking the rum in his other hand, he drank deeply from the bottle. I was panting with fright, bewildered and unable to get free.

"What did ye see just then?" he insisted urgently.

"You drank . . . some rum," I answered, shrinking back from him. "Please let me go; I don't know what you want – and you're hurting my hand." He stared at me for a moment, then released my hand. He cast off from our decayed mooring, and steered the canoe back whence we had come.

As soon as we reached the little dock, I bolted from the boat, entered the shack, and ran straight up the stairs to my room. I had shut the door and picked up my scimitar, before I remembered Tia Dalma telling me that we both needed Barbossa alive. _If he comes through my door, I can do no more than wound him,_ I thought, very upset. I could hear Barbossa downstairs, chuckling quietly to himself as he entered the parlour; but then the sound of his footsteps indicated that he had gone into his own room.

His violence had made me recall his treatment of poor Bootstrap, along with other unwelcome instances of his ferocious behaviour. _Let him wait upon himself now – he'll get no supper from me_, I decided, furious. I was appalled that I had ever allowed feelings of sympathy to grow as he had related the story of his arrest and trial.

The next morning, Tia Dalma returned. After my breakfast, she presented me with a plate for Barbossa. Though I had to steel myself for the encounter, I reasoned that I was safer since Tia Dalma had returned. When I appeared unsmiling at his door, he showed himself in an easy humour, and even apologised.

"Ye'll make allowances fer an old seadog actin' a bit rough, won't ye?" he said winningly.

"Rough? You acted appallingly," I corrected him, my eyes bright with indignation. But he would not be drawn into a quarrel. _Of course he wants to appease me; it would make no sense to flush the quarry before the trap can be sprung,_ I thought.

"I didn't intend t' alarm ye," he said soothingly, seemingly determined to ease matters. "I had t' make certain I weren't bein' cheated, an' I had need of a witness, ye could say. There be no other design on ye." He indicated the chair once more and invited me to converse with him as he ate.

After the fright he had given me, I might have rejected his invitation, but then he smiled. I decided that it really was an attractive smile, and I wished he would cease using it. I was also beginning to notice a sociable side to his personality that I would never have credited.

I closed my eyes to compose myself, sighed, and then took my seat.

"T'would be a shame, us not partin' as friends, now," he pursued in a low-pitched, purring growl that put me at ease in spite of myself. "I'm expectin' t' have a venture underway in but a short time, so I'll be leavin' as soon as matters are in hand. I suppose this be yer home, now?" His manner had been so pleasant and agreeable that I became incautious when I answered him.

"I don't know; I've agreed to do as Tia Dalma instructs me," I replied, without thinking.

"Oh, so ye have a bargain with her, do ye? An' what has she promised t' do fer ye in return?" he enquired in an indifferent tone, but I caught the glint of sharp curiosity in his eyes.

"To help me from my low state," I answered, narrowly avoiding his trap. _And to defeat Hanibal, and to pay you out for thieving from me and trying to kill me and Jack, but I shan't be sharing that with you,_ I thought, casting my eyes down at my hands to avoid his stare.

When I looked up, he was still studying me, and I thought he gave a quick laugh under his breath; but when he spoke, it was to take up another subject.

"By the by, yer friend Jack was here t' other week," he informed me, drawing out the word _friend_, "But Tia Dalma said ye were travellin'. I weren't prepared meself t' receive company at the time, but he brought me his namesake." Smirking, he indicated the monkey. This insult to Jack was not lost on me and I regarded him steadily, without smiling. "It must be a long time since ye last laid eyes on Sparrow," he pursued, lifting his eyebrows. It was clearly a question.

"No, not so long ago – in fact, on the day you mention, I was travelling from Anatolia, where I had helped him in a venture of some interest." Barbossa's eyes widened, and so I began to recount the events of my visit to the prison and our close escape.

He tried to appear indifferent, but was clearly curious and struck by my story. He stopped me to ask where I had learned Turkish. "From a family in Baku, on the Caspian Sea," I replied. "It was one of the way points where my father would leave me on occasion."

"I know the place," he answered. "T'is near the seas where the Corsairs rove. Go on."

When I finished my tale, he squinted as he studied me with an enigmatic expression.

"Yer lucky t' be alive," he said with sharp disapproval. "What would ye have done if the scaffolding had not given way? Between Sparrow's mad notions and yer own hot-headed temper, t'is a wonder that ye didn't end in yer own coffin. Look what ye did t' yer chin." Seeing my offended look, he gentled his speech.

"Well, I'll say this for ye, whatever arrangement, or 'longstandin' bond', there be between ye and Sparrow, ye showed marvellous loyalty, and boldness, goin' halfway across the world to him when he summoned ye. He had need of ye, and off ye went." Then he leaned back, raising his eyebrows and turning his gaze up to the ceiling as though he were entertaining some reservation.

"A' course, some might say Jack ain't known fer rewardin' ladies whose hearts he reigns over. If ye know him well, ye might agree that he's what's termed the 'love 'em and leave 'em' sort."

"And you might agree that the world abounds in far worse sorts of men," I rejoined tartly. "Jack is no sweetheart to me – he is more. He is the closest I have to a family, for I do not reckon Hanibal as kin to me, blood or no blood. Except for Jack, I am quite alone in this world."

Surprisingly for one so ready with words, Barbossa made no answer to this. Indeed, he frowned and assumed a meditative and solemn expression as he lowered his gaze. I reached for his empty plate at the same time that he did, and we both gripped the edge, our hands almost touching. Momentarily, I felt a strange connection to him, almost as if the plate were somehow drawing us together. _It's the spancel,_ I thought_. I really think Tia Dalma might have warned me._ Then the sensation passed, and Barbossa released his hold. He looked as though he might speak, but instead returned to his own ruminations.

As I took the plate out for washing, I felt the now-familiar sensation of an impending vision: the light around me seemed to change, and my limbs felt heavy, as though weighted by stones. Then I seemed to be looking down at very black, deep water, and I understood that Jack and the _Pearl_ had fallen through those lightless depths, and he was lost to me forever. _Jack is down there, dead,_ I thought as I stared at the water, and I wanted to throw myself in after him. My vision faded as a dream would end, leaving me on the parlour floor in a swoon.

The noise of the plate shattering as I fell must have roused Barbossa. When I regained my senses, he and Tia Dalma were in the parlour, bending over me. My limbs were not yet able to move again, and a feeling of overwhelming, tranquil sorrow flooded through me. "Jack is dead, and the _Pearl_ is gone," I told them calmly as I lay on the floor, unable to stand.

Tia Dalma directed Barbossa to move me upstairs to my room and arrange me on the bed. He scooped me up off the floor and I lay against his chest in a stupour whilst he carried me up the stairs. He looked somewhat guilty and disconcerted as he carefully set me down upon my bed, and I realised that he had known of Jack's death – that Tia Dalma, for some purpose of her own, must have told him.

Tia Dalma appeared in the doorway and motioned Barbossa to leave us.

"I know yuh want to help Witty Jack," she told me, "all is not lost, dear wan. Now, is time for yuh last task: go to Captain Teague. Him ship is lyin' off de shore – him know yuh comin'."

I nodded, swallowing my grief. "Tia Dalma, was Jack the one? Did I simply not see until it was too late?" Tia Dalma shook her head, "No, dear wan. Yuh have not yet seen what true love kyan do to a man."

"What is that?" I said.

She gave me a gentle smile. "Love kyan prompt selfless deeds from even de hardest heart."

I gathered my belongings and descended to the parlour for the last time. I said my good-byes to Tia Dalma, then turned to Barbossa. Instead of offering his hand, he deliberately took a great bite of an apple, and spoke gruffly through the food in his mouth, "I'm not inclined to honeyed words or farewell speeches. May ye find yer way home, if that be what ye seek." With this backhanded leave taking, he turned away from me. As I left the shack, the first candles were being lit in the swamp to mark the passing of Witty Jack.

* * *

Next week: Chapter 13 - A Risky Venture - In which an old ally re-appears and a plan is made.


	13. A Risky Venture

**Disclaimer**: I have no claim whatsoever to any part of the Pirates of the Caribbean franchise. The original characters and original plots are owned by me.

* * *

**A Risky Venture**

I steered my canoe absently down the sluggish Pantano as if in a dream, numb with grief over Jack's death. Stopping at last upon a swampy bank of the river near the edge of the forest, I sat listlessly for some time, my heart overwhelmed. Finally, I stepped out of the boat, shouldered the sack of my belongings, and wandered down towards the shoreline. Tia Dalma's instructions had left me in some doubt as to what I might expect, but as I emerged from the trees, a familiar voice hailed me.

"Oi! Jen – _er _– Nina! Good t' see ye again, whatever name ye be usin'!" Rufus called out, laughing at his mistake. I hurried to his side and clasped his hand as if he were pulling me from the depths of the ocean. In the years since our last meeting, age had turned his hair white, but his eyes were still hawk-like and penetrating, and his powerful grip had lost none of its strength.

"Rufus! Of all people – what a blessing to see you!" I cried, relief and gratitude choking my words. "I–I have so much to tell you!" I was anxious to confide in Rufus, trusting his counsel to see me through all my sorrow and confusion, but he forestalled me.

"Ais, Nina, there be plenty o' time fer all that, but let's get ye aboard so's we can show our heels t' these waters. We sail on the _Troubadour_ now; Teague's fitted 'ur out right an' proper," he lifted his chin, smiling broadly. "Surgery's a bit bigger; we'll need that when the time comes." I boarded the small boat he had pulled up on the beach, and he pushed it off into the surf, climbing aboard with more vigour than I would have expected from a man of his years. I wondered what the "time" was that might be coming, but he rowed in silence until we reached Teague's ship.

As Rufus brought our boat alongside the _Troubadour_, I asked, "Are you to be my sentinel once again?"

He threw back his head and laughed. "Ye haven't the need of 'un now. The lot of 'em heard what ye did t' that murderin' Kitto, an' how ye escaped Barbossa. P'raps I added a bit t' Kitto's tale – it did grow in th' tellin'." Then with a toothy grin, he added, "Some of 'un were talkin' o' 'Wild Nina', whisperin'-like."

Still chuckling under his breath, he brought me aboard and took me at once to see Teague in the captain's quarters. Though ten long years had passed since our last meeting, Teague still retained the authoritative air and mysterious, dark-eyed gaze that I had known all my life.

"Sorry we meet like this," he told me gravely, "Thanks for helping Jacky with the key."

As he mentioned Jack's name, my anguish must have been evident, for he held up his hand to restrain the flood of tears and questions I was barely holding back. "Don't lose hope," he told me with quiet assurance, fixing his gaze upon my face. "He's not the first to be trapped in Davy Jones' locker, but he may be the first t' be freed from it." Something in the steadiness of his eyes and the tone of his voice worked like a soothing balm upon my heart.

"Then I want to help," I begged, hardly able to stand still for impatience. "Tell me what's needed and send me to do it – I can't stand idly by!" Teague grasped my shoulder gently with thumb and forefinger and, just as he used to steer me when I was a small child, guided me to a seat at his table.

He shook his head. "T'is not for you to do," he admonished me firmly in the same calm voice. He stood looking down at me, waiting for a sign that I had accepted his words and put away ill-conceived notions of rescuing Jack myself.

I sat trying to conquer my own desperation, when an unexpected insight presented itself: in all the years I had known them, Teague had always been fiercely protective of his son, whilst permitting him maximum freedom. Indeed, I had seen a perfect example when Teague rescued us from the island where we were marooned. If he thought for one instant that Jack would not be rescued from Davy Jones' locker, I was certain that no power on earth would have kept him from his son's side. And yet, here he was, allowing others to take on the task. Therefore, he must know the outcome, I reasoned, and the wisest course was to do as he bade me. After a moment, I nodded, trusting that Jack would somehow, impossibly, be restored to us.

Teague seemed satisfied with my response, and stepped away, remarking, "I've to see to the helm. Rufus can tell you where we're off to, and why." Pointing at me, he reiterated, "You keep faith – don't give up." And with that, he left us at the table with rum and tankards at hand, as Rufus prepared to explain matters.

"I knaw yer fretted over Jack," he began, "But ye'll see 'im soon enough. Ye may ask why we ain't joinin' in t' free 'im; tes because those that sent him t' Davy Jones' locker must bring him back. Barbossa be master o' th' ship fer that venture, an' if anyone can cheat Davy Jones, he's yer man. Once Barbossa's freed Jack, they'll be joinin' us at Shipwreck Cove." He poured out two tots of rum, and cleared his throat before continuing.

"The long and short of it is: war is comin', m' girl." Rufus looked very stern, and his mouth turned down at the corners. "The 'War Against Piracy' tes called, but tes a war 'gainst freedom. The East India Trading Company wants t' be rid of all us gentlemen o' fortune, so's they can control all trade on the high seas. Teague an' all the Pirate Lords 'ave got th' summons, an' they're obliged t' make fer Shipwreck Island with no delay. Th' Brethren must meet, weigh matters, an' decide what's t' do," he said.

"What's to do indeed, Rufus," I repeated, very alarmed. "Pirate ships are no match for the Company's armada. We are outmanned and outgunned. This might mark the extinction of all the pirates," I added, the thought sending an icy tremor through me.

"Ais, but hark, now; I've a deal t' tell 'ee that only Cap'n an' me knaws," he answered, lowering his voice and leaning forward. "Ye see, many years afore our time, the first Brethren Court met at Shipwreck Cove an' bound the goddess Calypso so they might sail the seas freely, answerin' only t' themselves. And so it went, fer many a year. But if Calypso's old powers was restored by the present Lords, 'ur might feel gratified, an' help us fight the Company. Trouble is, 'ur can't be released unless all nine Pirate Lords o' the present Court agrees to it, an' there be nothing less sartin than a pirate vote. But mark this: tes Calypso 'urself gatherin' the scattered an' recallin' the dead." He paused and squinted at me, making sure I followed him.

Stories from my old books flashed through my mind, of the good-hearted nymph who loved mortal mariners, and wove ceaselessly with a golden shuttle; she was the spirit of hidden knowledge, answering questions with riddles.

Suddenly, my years of half-guessed speculations were answered in a flash of understanding: Calypso and Tia Dalma were one and the same, and this was her design – the reason she needed Barbossa, and the reason she would need Jack. I had spent years under the protection of this immortal being, reputed to be Atlas' own daughter and the lover of Odysseus. How dared the Brethren humiliate her in such a fashion! How could they now seek her help?

"After all her years of captivity, do the Brethren not fear retribution?" I remembered the fury in her eyes that I had seen as she spoke of Hanibal. "Do they truly understand the power they are tempting? Why would she scruple to destroy them? Has one man of them even asked her?"

"Couldn't say," Rufus shrugged. "All's I knaw is, tes our one chance."

I looked at the charts laid out on the table. "And where is Shipwreck Cove - come to that, _what_ is Shipwreck Cove?"

"I ain't a navigator," answered Rufus, "So I can't tell 'ee _where_, but I can tell 'ee _what_. Tes a pirate fortress - not one o' yer disorderly settlements o' small account, but a true fortress. Tes made entirely from wrecked ships set i' the mouth o' what were a volcano, an' only got to by one approach – the Devil's Throat. Let yer vessel stray a hair from 'er course, and _pfft!_ – she's wrecked."

"How certain are you that good fortune attends the venture to save Jack?" I asked anxiously.

"Tia Dalma sails wi' 'em; and by all accounts, Barbossa's a fine cap'n. I've gone on many a successful voyage wi' worse. I reckon they've good odds."

"I suppose Barbossa will drive the crew as hard as he likes; I thought he was fearsome and spoke abominably to the men on the _Pearl_," I remarked, my opinion perhaps coloured by the ill-mannered way in which he had treated my departure. "I can't see how that makes him a fine captain."

"'Ee need t' larn how a pirate cap'n thinks," Rufus replied. I lifted my eyebrows, questioning.

"It be this way, Nina," he explained. "Ye seed how tes at sea; ye never knaw where the next peril be, an' how quick it may overtake ye. There be little good t' come o' soft words.

"Truth be," he added, leaning forward and fixing me with his hard stare, "One of 'un makes a mistake, an' all of 'un die fer it. An' that's 'ow Barbossa sees it." He tapped the corner of his eye for emphasis. "Teague as well – all the good cap'ns do."

I thought this over and recalled that even Jack could be quite sharp when calling out orders.

"Don't ye forget," Rufus reminded me, "Those lads put their fates in 'is hands fer ten year, under the curse. Twouldn't happen wi'out they reckoned 'im a fine cap'n an' commander. 'Ee knaws the cost o' failure." I had to acknowledge his point, but thinking of Barbossa recalled to me the strange account he had told of his trial.

"Barbossa told me a far-fetched yarn concerning Hanibal," I said, "I was inclined to disbelieve him." Then I repeated Barbossa's tale, as Rufus paid close attention.

"He insisted he knew nothing of the crimes on the _Wayfarer_," I said when I had finished, "Yet he could not name a reason why he should have been so used."

Rufus looked me cautiously out of the corner of his eye. "Ay . . . the sinkin' o' the _Wayfarer_ . . ." he said, half to himself.

"Well . . .," he ventured slowly, after a long hesitation, "I might knaw a jot or two about that." I stared at him, speechless.

"Might be able t' help ye there, but not as much as ye'd like." He looked reflective, and added, "I s'pose I ought t' tell 'ee; tedn't right that it be 'eld back."

"Please, Rufus," I entreated him, "I know so little of my relations and would welcome an end to these mysteries. I care not whether the facts tell against my family – I wish to hear anything you know."

Rufus nodded and added more rum to our tankards. "Ye see," he began, "I were a Launceston man originally. Ye knaw the Cornwall Assizes be held there. Back in them days, I were 'prenticed as a joiner an' coffin-maker, an' makin' the odd coin whenever the sexton needed an extra hand. Never thought I'd end as a pirate doctor." He gave a short laugh.

"The year I be speakin' of," he went on, "There was five charged at the Lent Assize with piracy on a snaw-brig called _Wayfarer._ T'was said that they murdered most o' the souls on board, an' scuttled her off the coast. All but two of 'ur passengers went t' the bottom wi' the ship. Maude Butler, ais, that were 'un, an' Trennick I d'recall. The men was all tried for the murders o' Butler and Trennick, for the bodies showed they was both shot. Judge Bitter sentenced all five t' hang fer it." He tugged at his ear for a moment, thinking, and then continued his story.

"Th' day the verdict were read, the sexton told me t' fix three coffins, not two, an' t' keep all the doin's very quiet." He narrowed his eyes, staring at me. "An' that night, the bailiff brought three bodies t' lay in them coffins."

I saw no cause for his wariness, thinking this could be easily explained. "Perhaps another body washed ashore after the trial had begun," I reasoned. "And in any case, Butler and Trennick were enough to convict the men. There was no need to bring another charge."

"Might o' been," he conceded with a nod. "That were the tale they gave me. But tes what happened next that bothered me." He took a swig of rum before revealing more of the secret he had kept all these years.

"T'were the bodies o' one man, an' two women," he said, resuming his tale. "An' all three were buried near Launceston; only - mark this - t'was only two graves that was dug. Maude Butler were put into one; but before we laid Trennick in t' other, I were told t' put the last coffin in, an' lay Trennick's over it. Th' second woman got no marker, nor mention of 'ur name." Rufus was speaking slowly now, evidently still leading up to the most significant portion of the story.

"Tes only m'self," he said, "who knaws all 'un names. I seed the sexton copy 'em off the passenger list into the parish register, but the bailiff weren't pleased at that. An' neither of 'em knawed I could read." His mouth turned up in a grim smile. "The next day, I opened the book out o' curiosity, but the page with the second woman's name were tore out. I wanted a quick look, for I had took partic'lar notice o' the name. I sez t' meself, 'Bitter? Why, that be the same name as the Judge!'"

I struggled to understand. "You say that one of the victims was named Bitter? But who could it have been?"

Rufus shrugged and looked at me carefully. "Ever heard tell of a Marianne Bitter?" he asked.

I shook my head. "Never. Who was she? Can you tell me any more particulars?"

Rufus shrugged. "Not as many as ye'd like." He leaned back, stretching out his long legs and crossing his arms. He frowned, choosing his words. "Ye resembles 'ur, or what uz left of 'ur." He waved his fingers around his face. "Colourin's th' same," he noted. "An' the shape o' yer 'ands be similar; I noticed when 'ee furst come aboard." A feeling of deep unease began to rise in my chest.

"I expect she's yer kin – by blood, not marriage,' he observed. "That 'ud make ur Hanibal's kin too, wouldn't it?"

"And was she also a victim of the attack on the _Wayfarer_?" I asked.

"Naw, not by my reckoning," he replied, shaking his head. "T' other two bodies showed the marks o' bein' in the wattar fer some time," he said, scratching his chin, "If y' take me meanin'."

I nodded, taking his meaning quite well, though it made me sicken to imagine it.

Rufus rubbed his hand across his upper lip. "Now, t' other lady - Bitter - was shot straight through, wi' no sign o' bein' in the wattar. Jest shot."

"If pirates didn't kill her, who did?" I asked, still trying to grasp the significance of the woman named Marianne Bitter.

"Tes a question, ain't it? But I tell ye two things: first, she weren't shot on the _Wayfarer_, or she'd 'a been in the wattar." He illustrated by pointing his finger down and pressing its tip firmly on the table.

"Whoever killed 'er, they made sure no one could get at the truth of it," he continued, his dark eyes peering at me with the hardened stare I knew so well. "Why hide 'ur in that grave? Mebbe so she's never found – then ye can give whatever tale ye like. Tes the safest place, when ye consider it. An' why would a Judge want five innocent men scragged, with no questions asked or defence put for'ard?

"The second thing I'll tell 'ee is: whoever did the deed, Hanibal Bitter's hand is in it," his expression tightened and he looked very grim as he said this. "Tes th' nature of th' man."

As I was trying to puzzle out what Rufus had told me, the door opened and the _Troubadour's_ cook looked in.

"Sorry t' bother ye, Rufus," he said with a very worried face. "She's took very porely, an' we need ye t' step round or she mayn't see 'er next sunup." Rufus rose at once and motioned me to follow him. When we reached the galley, I looked about in vain to see the desperate woman he had been summoned to help. Then I saw the cook mournfully remove a large hen from her cage, who seemed to have some obstruction in her throat.

"Fetch me a scalpel an' a needle wi' a bit o' thread from th' surgery, Nina," Rufus told me as he examined his patient. I ran to the surgery and returned with a scalpel and a fine needle which I had threaded.

"What did ye eat this time, old girl," muttered Rufus as he took the scalpel, and, holding the hen by her neck, made a quick incision opening her throat. Another quick stroke and he put his fingers into her oesophagus and plucked out a hardened bean. I handed him the needle, and he quickly closed the incision with sutures. As always, I was struck by his skill, which shone forth even brighter in the rough surroundings of a pirate ship. Rufus saw my look and smiled proudly.

"Thought o' that 'un m'self," he remarked. "I d'like eggs of a marnin'."

As we walked back to the surgery, the sinister business at Launceston was still on my mind. I put another question to him. "If Barbossa was sentenced and held in gaol, perhaps you can tell me how it is that he wasn't hanged?"

"Ah! Well, that be the second part o' me tale," he said as he wiped off the scalpel and put it away. "T'was me as 'elped 'im cheat t' hangman. Though Barbossa weren't notorious back then; sartinly not knawn t' me. It happened by chance-like."

We proceeded to the captain's day room, which was empty. Rufus poured out rum and sat with me at the captain's table to continue our conversation.

"We 'ad a bad run o' gaol fever that year," he told me. "It takes many a presoner's life before they even puts the halter on 'un, an' many that are only sarvin' a short sentence never comes out alive when the fever gets a holt of 'un."

"Be that as it may," he continued. "After th' Lent Assize, they sent fer me to 'elp take out the ones that be layin' dead. As I were a-draggin' of this one an' that one, I seed a young man in a cell wi' only a bit of dirty straw on t' floor. 'Ee seemed almost like a dead man, the way 'ee sat there, with 'is face lookin' sick an' green.

"Can't say why I did what I did. Mebbe it were that I'd dragged out so many sad-faced corpses, or that I used t' go wi' me wife t' hear 'em prechers of a Sunday, or mebbe I'd had a bellyful o' the justice sarved in that dirty rat hole, but I took the decision t' question 'im, an' if I warn't satisfied he desarved t' be there, I was set on makin' me own justice.

"So I went t' see 'im, an' heard about 'is capture an' the charges; an' somethin' about the way 'ee held to his story an' how no question shook 'im, made me sure 'ee were speakin' the truth. I dedn't hold wi' privateerin' then, but I told 'im what 'ee must do.

"'Lay quiet on the floor,' sez I, 'an' I'll take ye out wi' the dead. Ye look poorly enough t' belong among 'em.'" He paused, remembering. "I meant the sweat pourin' offen 'im, an' the bad colour o' his skin."

"So 'ee thanks me an' sez, 'An' what's t' do next?'

"'Show 'em yer 'eels an' don't come back no more,' sez I. 'Don't 'ee thank me neither – I wants naught t' do wi' privateers.' An' that were the way of it. Never seed 'im again. T' others were 'anged. Or died from the fevers." He exhaled a long sigh.

"I left Launceston right after," he said, taking up the rum and refilling his tankard. "I wanted no more t' do wi' that damned fever-gaol. We went t' me brother in Lamorna. I took t' the sea, turned pirate m'self, an' years later signed on t' the _Misty Lady_." He took a long swallow of his drink.

"Then Barbossa owes you his life," I said. Rufus waved this aside, as if my observation was superfluous.

"An' 'ee ain't fergot it, I reckon. Jest as I ain't fergot I owes ye mine," he pointed out. "See 'ere, lass, if I lives through the next battle, I'm retirin' like a proper gent. Teague'll put me ashore in Tortuga, an' I'll go on t' St Thomas – t' me dattur Jen an' 'ur man what lives there."

At this, my face brightened and I smiled at him. "So there truly is a Jenny? How lovely for you, Rufus; I wish you an abundance of long, happy days there."

He returned my smile, very pleased. "Very 'andsome of ye, Nina; thank 'ee. I did intend t' leave ye me books an' such, but y' ain't placed t' take 'em."

He had been fiddling with a strange little device as he spoke, a buckled leather strap to which was attached a screw and two small plates of brass. "Thought I might give ye this instead. Tes another o' me inventions. I've been usin' it fer amputations o' legs, an' tes stemmin' th' flow o' blood a fair treat." He showed me proudly how the plates were set over the femoral artery and great pressure applied through the use of the screw; then he handed it to me saying, "P'raps ye'll take it an' remember th' first amputation when I were trainin' ye up?"

I took the unusual gift from him, bemused by his idea of sentiment, particularly since the patient had been the murderous Kitto. "I'm very gratified, Rufus. I didn't know you were a man of such keen sensibilities. I shall treasure it."

"Ais, well, ye never knaw when ye might find 'un handy," he said, clearing his throat. "An' what's t' do fer yerself, Nina? What'll become of 'ee aftar this?"

I struggled to find the easiest way to tell Rufus of my purpose, and decided that I could trust him with the truth. "I've had but one design for a long time now," I told him. "I'm determined to rid Pencarren of my uncle forever, and to have my revenge upon him and his pack of murderous rogues for all the barbarities I suffered. They took more from me than I can tell you."

I stopped speaking abruptly, lest my distress triumph over my composure. But Rufus nodded as though he understood perfectly, and perhaps he did; there was always a great deal more to Rufus than met the eye.

"An' how, exactly, d' ye mean t' defeat 'im?" Rufus asked. "'Ee's a long ways from 'ere, wi' more dirty rascals at 'is beck an' call than pilchards in a shoal."

"I know the difficulties . . ," I replied slowly, "But I may have something of an accidental ally, though not one who would wish to help me. You recall that Hanibal put a price on my head when I left Pencarren?"

"Ais; an' a kingly amount, I thought," he answered. "Ye've done well t' thwart 'im all these years."

"Thank you; but now I wish to be delivered up to him – by Captain Barbossa." Rufus raised his eyebrows in amazement, but kept his jaw tight and mouth pressed into a downward curve, studying me intently.

"Years ago, Barbossa robbed me and would have killed me," I explained, "But now he needs money, and this may answer to my needs. Firstly, Barbossa's greed may induce him to venture upon an easy fortune. Secondly, he is notoriously vindictive, and he has ample reason to revenge himself upon Hanibal. By simply taking me to Pencarren as a hostage, he can come at a fortune, and get close enough to settle his score with Hanibal. And I would rejoice to help him do just that. But if he knew my plan, he would certainly resist out of pure spite." I looked searchingly at Rufus, anxious to hear his opinion of my project.

After frowning for a moment, he slowly grinned at me, showing his strong, white teeth. "Well, none could deny yer bold nayture," he said. "So ye reckon Barbossa's likely t' think o' baitin' the hook wi' ye, eh?"

"He's a clever man, and I am the perfect lure for this. Hanibal cannot disregard me," I said.

Rufus nodded, and reached across the table to pat my hand. "If that be yer wish, I'll help 'ee," he said, to my surprise. "Ye saved me life, an' I owe ye. Have t' ask Cap'n a' course, but it seems t' me that I can hand y' over t' Barbossa, convincin'-like. 'Ee'll make an accord wi' me." He drew his brows together, thinking it out.

"'Ee knaws me from Launceston – 'ee ain't fergot; ye can lay t' that. An' now I'm an old 'un, retirin' from me trade wi' not enough coin t' satisfy meself, lookin' fer a last venture. That way 'ee'd trust me t' make terms. Ye can't have 'im thinkin' tes a ruse or a cheat. We've t' make a good market wi' ye. Gold, a' course, but more 'n gold . . ." he muttered, lost in thought.

"I think I know something that'll cost him." He smiled again, the wide, familiar grin that only appeared when his mood was most at its most jovial. My heart gave an excited leap: at last my plan would have a chance to be realised.

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Next week: Chapter 14 - Shipwreck Cove - In which the Brethren Court meets, Nina receives distressing news, Jack returns, and Rufus makes an accord.


	14. Shipwreck Cove

******Disclaimer:** I have no claim whatsoever to any part of the Pirates of the Caribbean franchise. The original characters and original plots are owned by me.

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**Shipwreck Cove**

If you were to describe the channel called Devil's Throat, most seamen would tell you it is unnavigable. The legendary entrance to Shipwreck Cove lies through a narrow tunnel piercing the side of the extinct volcano that forms Shipwreck Island. This dark and hazardous passage defies the pilotage skills of all but the very best mariners. A ship must sail through it with all her canvas out in order to maintain steerage in the light breezes that fill the tunnel, but there is no room for error; an instant too long on the wrong tack will bring the ship straight into the craggy wall of the tunnel, and jagged underwater spires will tear at her hull until she founders and is lost.

Just before the _Troubadour_ reached the entrance to Devil's Throat, Rufus told me he had obtained permission to send me up the ratlines to the topgallant yard for a better view of Shipwreck Cove, once we had passed through the channel. "Tes memorable," he told me. "Ye'll never forget yer first sight o' it." I pulled off my boots and went up the ratlines to my vantage point.

Captain Teague took the helm, and guided the _Troubadour_ into the narrows. High above the deck, I tried to remain calm as we were plunged into darkness. We had extinguished nearly all of the lights on board, so that our ability to see in the dark would not be compromised. As we passed through the narrows, I extended my hand, clutching the mast with my other arm, and was able to touch the unseen wet moss hanging from the rocky roof of the tunnel, as several startled bats flapped past me. At length, it was possible to make out an approaching patch of light blue, signalling the end of the channel.

As the _Troubadour_ emerged from Devil's Throat, the scene before me was spellbinding. The cove was encircled by a ring of steep mountains rising from the water to a great height where their peaks were crowned with sunlight. The height of the mountains blocked the sun's rays from falling upon the cove itself, which seemed to be mantled in a sort of perennial blue twilight. Within the cove were numerous tall structures composed of towering piles of wrecked ships, lit from end to end by countless torches whose reflections flickered like small golden stars in the sapphire waters below.

I gasped as I noticed a waterfall spilling down from one of the mountains far off across the cove. The distance was too great for me to hear the sound of the torrent, and the spray created an illusion of the water falling very slowly, giving the prospect a silent, dreamlike quality.

We moored the _Troubadour_ in the deep waters of the cove, and were taken ashore on her longboats. Rufus insisted that I arm myself and keep my locket and Messenger badge with me. "Don't 'ee leave nothin' val'able wi' a mob like this lookin' fer a spree," he warned. "Keep 'un on yer parsone at all times."

A few days earlier, I had watched as Rufus and Teague discussed my request that Rufus sell me to Barbossa. Teague had appeared to be deep in thought, but he nodded his approval. I felt there might be other considerations that troubled him, but nothing was said. Rufus told me that we would have little opportunity for talk at Shipwreck Cove. We were to keep mostly apart, lest Barbossa suspect an accord between us.

Shipwreck Cove's main piers were of fixed height, with ramps leading down to smaller, floating platforms, which rode up and down with the tidal cycle. We disembarked on one of these platforms, and I was among the last passengers starting up the ramp, when I heard the voices of Barbossa and Rufus. Just in time to avoid being seen, I hurried to the side of the ramp and sat on the platform underneath it. The two men continued their conversation, standing at the edge of the pier.

"Ais, I been doctar fer Teague goin' on twelve year," Rufus was saying. "If I'm preserved through this last, I means t' retire. Teague's agreed t' take me ashore at Tortuga, though I goes as a pore man."

"Seems t' me I heard Tia Dalma sent ye a little blowen, name o' Bitter," Barbossa remarked. "Am I right, or is it some other ship I be thinkin' of?"

"Ay, an' wi' a fair price on 'ur, too," Rufus answered. Then he lowered his voice and I imagined he took a step closer to Barbossa.

"Tes all down t' timin', ain' it?" Rufus went on. "I thought t' take 'ur off the ship wi' me, an' t' hell wi' Teague, since I won't be goin' back t' me old berth. Seemed like the perfect time. But wi' no ship o' me own, I can't take 'ur back t' bloody Cornwall, can I? More's the pity, as I ain't leavin' wi' too much coin; this 'ud be me last chance. Well, Fortune favours th' fortunate, as they d'say; I s'pose me dattur Jen can make shift fer 'ur old dad."

"Not so quick, mate; I might be in a position t' help ye, fer old times' sake," said Barbossa, as though an idea had just occurred to him. "Here's me proposal: if all we Brethren can defeat the Company, you take the little blowen along when y' go t' Tortuga. Then, if the enterprise I'm presently contemplatin' comes t' naught, I'll meet ye there an' pay ye a price worth yer while. Then ye'll have a bit more t' keep body an' soul together, an' I'll take th' risk an' the journey t' come at the rest of the ransom."

There was a silence. Then Rufus said, in his slow country way, "Not that I ain't thankful t' ye, but we should make the price beforehand. Twouldn't be right t' go all that way an' find the price weren't to me likin', would it?"

"Forty guineas," Barbossa said. "That's me generous nature gettin' the upper hand."

"Forty, is it? Ye knaw what ye stand t' gain from the uncle, don't 'ee? Forty . . . ," he shook his head. "I was lookin' fer a hundred, but seein' as yer so skint, I could settle fer sixty from that pore lad I took out o' gaol in Launceston."

There was silence for a moment, then Barbossa grunted. "I might find forty-five. I be the one bearin' the expense o' the voyage an' th' uncertainty o' getting' the gold, after all."

"An' tes I – not ye – that Teague'll be huntin' down," Rufus countered. "If yer so set on it, throw in yer pet an' I'll take forty-five. He'd be a rare treat for Jen's boys." Barbossa did not answer, so Rufus added, "No mattar, mate; now that we're all here, I'll speak wi' 'un a' those on t'other crews. I'll make a good cargo one way or t'other."

"No need fer that; we have an accord. Forty-five an' the monkey, though it pains me somethin' terrible," Barbossa replied, sounding less than sincere. I heard their footsteps echo off down the pier, but I waited several more minutes before I dared show myself. Then I followed the throng of pirates making their way into Shipwreck Hall.

Once inside the Hall, I found myself in a wide passageway of perhaps two hundred feet in length, where a large crowd of pirates from every far-flung corner of the world was jostling, shouting, laughing, arguing and carousing in every language imaginable. I pushed my way down the passageway, looking for any sign of Rufus. Just at that moment, I spied Jack at the centre of a group of pirates, apparently receiving their congratulations and compliments on his escape from the Locker. Joy overcame me, and I rushed to his side. Jack's smile brightened, and he threw his arms about my waist, lifting me and swinging me about as the onlookers shouted well-meaning, if rude, words of approval.

As Jack put me back down and we embraced tightly, I saw Barbossa standing nearby. Still giddy from encountering Jack, I impulsively threw my arms about the leader of the rescue party, thanking him and kissing his cheek, yet shocked, even as I touched him, by the excess of euphoria that drove me to do so. I pulled back quickly, blushing, and saw a hint of colour in Barbossa's face as he glanced quickly at me from under his eyelashes, and turned away. Jack's sharp eyes missed nothing; he took my elbow and steered me out of the noisy crowd.

He led me upwards through a labyrinth of twisting wooden corridors and stairways, finally arriving at a place where we could talk without being interrupted: the lofty bow of one of the wrecks stacked in the Cove.

"Been gettin' to know Barbossa, eh?" he remarked, as soon as we had settled ourselves.

"I don't know what possessed me," I laughed. "Perhaps it's to do with that spancel – no, it's sheer relief at seeing you alive again!"

We sat together looking out over the twinkling lights of countless pirate ships. Jack resisted my questions about his time in the Locker, but admitted the involvement of Elizabeth Swann in sending him to that place of unending torment.

"Do y' know, love, for a moment there, I really thought she liked me," he said, wonderingly. "Next level an' all that. Should've known, I suppose."

"I wish I had been there," I told him, furious. "I'd have seen her off and no mistake!"

"And so you would, darlin', but you know, sometimes we lads prefer to take our chances," he said, with a smirk.

He produced a flask of rum from which he took a long swig before offering it to me. "Anyway, it all came right in the end, and here we are. Now tell me what sorts of messes you've been getting yourself into since you've been on your own."

I told him of my ghostly errand for Tia Dalma, my conversations with Barbossa, and finally, of the tales I had heard from Barbossa and Rufus regarding Hanibal and the Lent Assize.

"You want to mind yourself, Brat," he warned me with a worried frown. "What with one thing and another, Barbossa's been laid on his beam ends. He'll take you straight to Hanibal if there's gold in it."

"I hope he does," I replied, to Jack's surprise. "Tia Dalma hinted that it would help me. Don't you see? We both want revenge on Hanibal. Barbossa might take me there to get at the gold, but he'd also want to pay out Hanibal for almost killing him. One way or another, it would help me gain my own revenge and overthrow Hanibal's reign as scourge of the Cornish coast!"

Jack frowned, finger to his lips. "Not a bad scheme. But, as I see it, your plan has two problems, love. One, assuming you could take Pencarren with one ship – which, by the way, I rather doubt – Barbossa would need to actually _have_ said ship, and he's presently without so much as a dinghy – the _Pearl _is mine, once again."

"And I say 'well done', Captain Jack! Bravo, my friend," I smiled, softly clapping my hands. Jack grinned with pleasure, acknowledging my ovation with a deprecating little flourish and a bow.

"Now; where were we?" he thought for a moment. "Ah, yes: two, he needs to _not_ have Sao Feng's maps showing the way to the Fountain of Youth! What man is willin' to spend his time chasin' gold – even in Hanibal's Spanish-fleet-like quantities – when he can put his hand on immortality?"

"And so it's hopeless?" I asked, feeling quite let down.

"Quite hopeless," he confirmed. "But not to worry, Brat! Make the best of a bad market, why don't you, and come back aboard the _Pearl_ with me. We'll both drink from the Fountain, and outlive Hanibal, the poisonous toad! Anyway, just what did you plan to do with Barbossa when Hanibal's been sorted out?" he enquired.

"Leave him in a predicament: maroon him somehow to pay him back for what he did to us," I shook my head, having not worked out this part of the plan. "He's dreadful, but Hanibal and his cronies are far worse." Then I looked hard into Jack's eyes, and said, "But you've made no remark about the oddest thing in my story. So I shall ask you outright: who was Marianne Bitter?"

Jack coughed a bit and then grew quiet. "Well, that's quite the unexpected turn, innit?" He took a breath and held it for an instant before speaking. "Tell you what: I'll tell me dad what you've heard, an' after we find out what sort of a future piracy has, you and I will ask him about it. If anyone knows, it'd be him." This seemed to settle his mind; he looked at me with a secretive smile like a cat hiding a morsel of food in its mouth, and a bright, flat gaze that told me no further revelations would follow.

We returned to the crowded hall, and Jack joined the Pirate Lords, who were assembling for the historic meeting.

As the Brethren Court declared itself in session, I found Rufus once more, who had somehow acquired a small glass of rum in the interim. We waited outside with the rest of the crews, as the Pirate Lords presented their credentials. A sudden commotion from the entrance heralded the arrival of none other than Elizabeth Swann, who, in Oriental splendour and weaponry, marched briskly through the passageway and into the Court before Rufus could even tell me who she was.

I was still trying to reconcile the appearance of this fierce Amazon with the tradition-bound character and tastes of James Norrington, when I noticed Rufus speaking with one or two of Miss Swann's crew. He caught my eye and approached me with a sympathetic demeanour, placing a hand across my shoulders and speaking to me in a low voice. With the constant shouting and arguing that issued from the assembly inside, I had a difficult time making out what he was saying, but eventually I understood. He was telling me that James was dead, killed whilst helping Elizabeth Swann escape from the _Dutchman_.

He offered me the rest of his rum, saying, "I knaw 'ee was yer young man once. Sorry."

I drank off the rum, and handed him the empty glass. Though I knew the James of my girlish fancies had never even existed, still it galled me to hear that his devotion to the "lass who loved another" had cost him his life whilst she was left to go swaggering about the Brethren Court. I began to conceive an active dislike of Miss Swann.

By the end of the session, the Court had declared for war. Miss Swann, now Captain Swann, had been elected King, and it was she who made the decision. As the Court began to disperse, Barbossa, Pintel and Ragetti hurried past me, making for the _Pearl _as quickly as possible. I smiled as I saw Jack emerge, talking earnestly with his father, who was resplendent as always in his fine red coat with gold embroidery. I hoped Jack was telling him what I had heard about the mysterious Marianne Bitter.

Teague was nodding to his son as they approached us. He greeted me and said he was sending me over to the _Pearl_, at Jack's request. Then he looked beyond me at Rufus. "A word with you, Rufus," he growled, and the two of them departed.

Jack took me by the arm at once. "We're off to the _Pearl_, love," he announced. "Here's me proposition: I'll protect you from Barbossa, and you're to knock King Swann on the head if she tries to kill me again, agreed?" I sputtered a protest, but the die had been cast; I was condemned to sail upon a ship that carried two people I despised.

Once aboard and having no official duties assigned to me, I kept my cabin and read very dull books, letting King Swann and the two captains fight matters out amongst themselves.

My solitude was broken the following day, when Jack appeared at my door in a coaxing humour. He, Barbossa and Miss Swann had just spied the massive EITC armada, and Jack had urged a parley with our enemy. He told me this in so open and engaging a manner that I suspected him at once of having some hidden design.

"The Brethren must convey an offer of parley to Cutler Beckett," he told me, after explaining how matters stood. "King Swann has the letter ready, and we've merely to find a means to deliver it without the charming Lord Beckett, or his even more charming associates, committing unnecessary violence – in a word, we'd rather they didn't kill the messenger," he said, tilting his head and smiling invitingly as he spoke.

"Best of luck to Miss Swann. I'm sure she'll work something out," I said. I picked up my book, but Jack stopped me.

"Don't you see? You've got Captain Harry's Messenger badge – even the old EITC won't start a fight with King George. If you wear said badge, you can take the letter to Beckett, an' tell 'im you're on the King's errand; bluff him!" He grinned at me confidently. "I've seen you do it, Brat; show him what you're made of." As I listened, my mind ran along a different line, and found inspiration.

"Why, Jack," I said, suddenly brightening. "I do believe you've solved a rather intractable problem for me! I believe I know how to pay out Barbossa."

Despite the urgency of the parley offer, Jack was instantly intrigued. "Now, what scheme would you be hatchin' to deal with Barbossa?" he asked.

"You told me I needed more than one ship to take Pencarren back from Hanibal. King George has an entire navy! What if he assisted us with a man o' war? He's famously mean, even over paltry sums, and Hanibal's deeds are preventing revenue from reaching the Crown. I'll wager he's already properly nettled over the whole affair," I explained, feeling that I was on the track of a brilliant scheme.

"And what's in it for his Royal Nettledness?" demanded Jack with a frown.

"Hanibal's riches," I replied. "I could offer everything to his Majesty if he would but send one ship to help me. And then I could hand over Barbossa for good measure! Let King George deal with him; that's as good as marooning the scoundrel." Jack looked pleasantly surprised, but then frowned, thinking it over.

"Getting to London will take too long – " he objected.

"I don't need to go to London!" I jumped in excitedly to explain. "Everyone knows the King has been at Plymouth for ages, overseeing preparations for fighting in Hanover. It's simple: Barbossa takes me to Pencarren as his prisoner, and I nip over to Plymouth. Why could I not see the King and lay my case before him? A pirate ship and a ship of the line could take Pencarren easily.

"And just now, my dear, marvellous friend," I added, "You've reminded me that I have something which will admit me to the Royal presence."

"The Messenger badge," said Jack, his intense eyes boring into me.

I nodded. "They must honour it. After that, I shall see what terms I can make."

Jack looked impressed. "Bloody hell, it sounds almost like something I would think up," he said, admiringly. "Of course, you've still got the slight problem of Barbossa being ship-less at the moment, as well as the whole Fountain business, but something may turn up." He gave me a quick, calculating look.

"The thing is," he went on, "Have you got what it takes to go through with it?"

"What!? Jack – how long have you known me?" I rejoined, very offended that he would question my resolve.

"That's just it, love. I know you better than you know yourself," he said in his most irritatingly superior manner. "For example," he raised a finger as if testing the wind, "I know you're afraid of Cutler Beckett not honouring the Messenger Badge."

"I beg your pardon?" I was on my feet now, indignant.

"Well . . .," he offered, studying his fingernails, "Let's just say you not sufficiently _un_afraid, or you'd take the letter."

"I have no fear of Cutler Beckett!" I answered hotly. "It is he who should fear letting harm come to anyone who wears that badge." Jack greeted this declaration with raised eyebrows and a sceptical shrug.

"Right. I'll take the bloody letter," I retorted, my eyes flashing. "_And_ defeat Hanibal. 'Got what it takes', indeed!"

Jack accompanied me to the captain's quarters, where Elizabeth Swann was giving orders as the Pirate King, with Barbossa standing at her shoulder, playing the sycophant, as I supposed.

Captain Swann picked up a letter that lay near her hand, and held it out to me, her face set with a determined expression.

"As Pirate King, I command you to deliver this to Cutler Beckett on board the _Endeavour_," she said sternly.

I stood immobile, but my thoughts were in a great uproar. Here stood my triumphant rival for James' affections, the woman who had killed Jack, the woman for whom James had given his life. Was she moved by his sacrifice? Did she realise how ill she had used her power over James, or regret trapping poor Jack by preying upon his affectionate nature? And to her right, giving himself airs, stood the man who had tried to kill Jack and myself. I became aware that everyone was watching me as I glared at her. It was too much for me.

"Are you, or am I mistaken, the same Elizabeth Swann who served up Jack to the Kraken? Who left James Norrington to die," I asked, my voice catching on his name, "With another of your traitor's kisses?"

"I am Elizabeth Swann, King of the Brethren Court, and I require your service," she answered with dignity.

"I am not your subject, _Captain_ Swann. I hardly require one sovereign, let alone two," I retorted, keeping my voice soft with an effort.

"Subject or not, I need this offer of parley delivered – now. Our victory depends upon it, as do the lives of your friends," she said, snapping out her words.

I glanced at Jack, who was using his eyes to urge me, silently, to acquiesce. Barbossa stared ahead, stern and haughty with his chin firmly jutted out.

I snatched the letter.

"I do this for your sake alone, Jack," I said, shaking it at him. "The rest of you can go to blazes!" I turned on my heel to depart.

"You see? She's agreed to do it," Jack remarked brightly to the others. "You won't regret it, darlin'!" he added to me. I turned to face him from the door, and spoke so that all could hear me.

"Watch your back in the midst of this . . . this basket of snakes, Jack," I warned, my cheeks reddened and my eyes bright with defiance.

I collected my belongings, proceeded to the deck, and climbed down to the waiting longboat with the silver greyhound hanging about my neck on its blue ribbon. _Perhaps Jack is right,_ I thought. _Perhaps hell really doth have no fury like that with which . . . however he put it._

When the longboat drew alongside the _Endeavour_ and I was shown into the presence of Cutler Beckett, my resentment was still seething; perhaps a fortunate thing, in view of the man I was about to meet.

He stood at his desk, plump and sleek, holding a small glass of cognac and regarding me with a slightly amused smile. _He takes me for a simple wench,_ I thought, _because of my boy's dress and the dirt on me._

"And why would the likes of you be wearing the badge of a King's Messenger?" he asked, in his rather nasal, drawling way. The way he watched me reminded me of a cobra studying its prey.

"I would have thought you'd know – with your new title and all," I answered, with pretended surprise. "No matter; I shall explain. I wear the silver greyhound as a sign that I am presently on the King's errand."

His expression changed to one of annoyance. "I know its _purpose_," he replied, drawing out his words with an edge of contempt. "I am questioning its _legitimacy_ in the present circumstances."

I suddenly found my emotions had vanished, and I was quite in command of myself once more. The silver greyhound lay against my heart as though my father's spirit were there, filling me with courage. I looked at Beckett very coolly, with confidence and determination.

"That, I'm afraid, is not open to your questioning," I replied. Drawing myself up and staring him in the eye, I warned him, speaking slowly and distinctly. "Have a care, Lord Beckett; you would do well to respect the authority of this commission, as do your betters. You do not frighten me, sir, and you'll find these waters are far deeper than those upon which you presently sail. If you seek to end in one of his Majesty's prisons or worse, seizing a Messenger will gain you that purpose instantly. We are few in number, and his Majesty is touchy on matters regarding our welfare."

"And what sort of dispatch do you bring?" he asked, going a bit more cautiously.

I produced the letter from my sack. "Consider it a useful suggestion for your next move. And now, I require the use of a longboat and oarsmen. Safe passage goes without saying, does it not?"

Beckett read the letter, glancing up at me two or three times. Then he folded it and dropped it upon his desk.

"You may tell them –," he began, but I cut him off.

"Tell them yourself," I retorted. "I am the King's Messenger, not a post boy. As you should know."

I turned from him and left the room, expecting to be run through at any moment, but I was able to gain the deck without being obstructed, killed, or simply overcome with my own fright. A longboat was quickly prepared for my departure. "Take me to the _Troubadour_," I instructed them, pointing her out. They grumbled about the distance, but my temper had been too sorely provoked to consider returning to the _Pearl_.

Aboard the _Troubadour_, preparations for battle were being rushed to their completion. I went to Teague's quarters and presented myself for duty. His eye fell upon the silver greyhound, and I knew it recalled the memory of my father to him. He didn't seem surprised that I was no longer on the _Pearl_, and he graciously instructed me on what I might expect to see when the fighting began.

"We've hours to go," he said. "Even after the parley. The _Pearl_ will lead the attack. For the moment, all the other ships must hold the line." He motioned to a map where our positions were marked, and I could see the battle formations in a way I never had before. Our ships formed a long line aft of the _Pearl_ and a similar formation was arrayed on the opposing side. These ships were arranged in such a way that the lines could sail past each other, with all the vessels on both sides firing into the opposing line, broadside to broadside. Sudden insight struck me. "So that's why warships are called ships of the line!" I said.

"Ay," replied Teague. "We _are_ the line. A broken line means a defeated force." He pushed a spyglass across the table and gave me leave to watch from the main topgallant. "If the line is deployed," he said, "get to the surgery. Help Rufus. And mind yourself – they'll be firing into our hull."

"Ay, Captain," I said, taking the glass. It flashed across my mind that any such battle would decimate our entire force, given the sheer number of guns carried on the EITC ships.

"And Nina. . ." he added. I paused on my way to the door, but he was silent.

At last, looking at the greyhound again, he said, "Funny the things you say that come back t' haunt you. I told Jacky the trick was t' be able to live with yourself, forever. That goes for me as well." He pointed to the greyhound and said, "This is a sign. If we live through this war, I'll have a tale for ye. It's time you heard it."

Later that day from my perch on the yardarm, I saw the boats return from the parley, and I saw Jack taken to the _Dutchman_. The next sight that absorbed me was the chaining of Tia Dalma to the _Pearl's_ mast, and the ritual of release that was performed. As she grew to the size of a titan, I could feel some invisible force pass over the _Troubadour _like a wave, and I didn't need the glass to see the rage on the face of Calypso as she roared her fury and exploded into an avalanche of small white sea crabs.

Shortly afterwards, the _Pearl_ hoisted her colours; the rest of us followed suit and held our positions. I watched as the _Pearl_ and the _Dutchman_ began to close on each other, and realised that the engagement would take place where a violent maelstrom was forming.

I turned my glass upon the _Pearl_, and saw Barbossa at the helm, steering her into the centre of the whirlpool and shouting orders to the crew. I was astonished at his ability to handle the ship under conditions which would have led to its destruction under the command of a lesser captain. His boldness was complemented by his skill and decisiveness, and the _Pearl_ and the _Dutchman_ were soon locked in a pitched battle as they circled the vortex, with broadsides flying and heavy fighting on both vessels.

I looked for Jack, finally spying him in the _Dutchman's_ rigging, where he was crossing swords with Davy Jones himself. I held my breath in fear that the next parry or attack would be his last, until I finally saw him drop towards the deck. Horrified, I lowered the glass to try to see where he was, and some bit of shot ricocheted past me, striking the glass and knocking it from my hands. I could not see the activity that followed, but shortly after, I saw the _Dutchman_ shudder. As she was pulled down into the vortex, Jack and Elizabeth Swann were borne aloft from the deck under a large square of canvas. The _Pearl_ drew off safely from the maelstrom, under Barbossa's able hand.

By the time the _Pearl _had retrieved Jack and Captain Swann, the _Endeavour_ was beginning her attack. Before she could fire upon the _Pearl_, however, the sea threw forth the _Dutchman_ once more. The _Pearl_ and the _Dutchman_ surrounded the _Endeavour_ and raked her with cannon fire on both sides. The cannonade was so fierce that the _Endeavour's_ magazine exploded, and she sank. Almost immediately, the Company's line broke, as the EITC ships showed us their heels and departed.

Although I joined in the cheers that erupted from all the ships of the brethren, I stayed up in the rigging and did not immediately rejoin Rufus or Teague. I was drained of purpose and in a strange humour, wondering where life would take me next. I realised I would never see Tia Dalma again, and it came to me that my home of the past ten years was now only a memory.

Most of the ships, including the _Pearl_, sailed for Tortuga at once, but we lingered another day, because Teague wished to dine with an old friend. I was called upon to assist the cook in preparation of special dishes for the occasion, but then was invited to sit at table with the two captains. I found much comfort in this homely gathering, not only because our guest praised my culinary efforts and lavished the most flattering, untruthful compliments upon my person, but also because he was previously known to me. I had been a guest of his family in Baku, the occasion of which I had mentioned to Barbossa. But I had not mentioned that the people in Baku had been the family of Captain Ammand.

* * *

Next: Chapter 15 - Tortuga - In which Teague reveals a secret, Rufus makes an important trade, and Jack proves he is the best pirate ever.


	15. Tortuga

******Disclaimer:** I have no claim whatsoever to any part of the Pirates of the Caribbean franchise. The original characters and original plots are owned by me.

* * *

**Tortuga**

Within a few days of our momentous victory over the EITC, the_ Troubadour_ at last drew near our destination. I had no expectation that Barbossa would forego his pursuit of the Fountain of Youth in favour of transacting business with Rufus. Immortality would trump mere treasure and revenge, and Jack, despite sympathising with me, would be like-minded. The _Pearl_ was doubtless on her way to the Fountain, although I wondered how the venture would fare with the two captains scrapping over command of the ship. For my part, I had resigned myself to disembarking with my old friend and seeking another means of making passage to Cornwall. I was prepared to confront Hanibal alone.

On the morning when the _Troubadour_ was yet a day out from the Tortuga road, I was standing at the rail with Rufus, musing silently upon the various ways I might take ship for Pencarren. Rufus took a quick look about, then said in a low voice, "Cap'n spoke t' me about the _Wayfarer_ an' Marianne Bitter." I glanced up at him, my eyes wide with surprise.

He shook his head in wonder. "T' think," he went on. "If I'd stayed in Launceston, I'd 'ave met Edward Teague long ago. 'Ee were lookin' into th' mattar not a month after I left."

I tried to stammer a question, but Rufus waved me off. "'Ee'll tell ye soon enough," he assured me.

Before I could recover my thoughts, I heard Teague's forward lookout cry _Ahoy!_ Moments later, Rufus and I found ourselves watching from the deck as Jack came aboard from a tiny sloop. It appeared that Barbossa had stolen the _Pearl_ and departed whilst Jack and Mr Gibbs were ashore in Tortuga, pursuing their customary debaucheries of wenching and drinking. With an unsteady gait, Jack strolled across the deck to us, a bottle in one hand and a long roll of papers in the other.

"Drunk as a bee," muttered Rufus.

"Well, mates, he's done it again," Jack announced, with a flourish. "You've arrived only moments too late to witness me ship bein' stolen by the selfsame old scoundrel for the third time." He held up three fingers which he studied with a frown – whether to validate their number or inspect his rings, I could not say.

"I suppose he's on his way to seek the Fountain of Youth, then," I replied, dispirited.

Jack smirked, rocking backward a bit on his heels. "Well, if I was you, love, I would definitely put ashore in Tortuga for a bit. I rather suspect the old scallywag'll be back, and I rather suspect he'll be in need of a new venture." With a grin, he unrolled the papers he carried, and I saw that he had almost all of Sao Feng's maps, only missing the borders. Barbossa may have stolen the _Pearl_, but Jack had cheated him of his project.

Jack cocked an eyebrow and gave me a feline stare with his jetty eyes, and I suddenly realised that he had planned it all, so that Barbossa would indeed have a ship but no enterprise, and would resort to taking me captive just as I had wished.

"Thank you, Captain Jack!" I exclaimed fervently. "You truly _are_ the best pirate ever!"

"Just one thing," asked Jack, holding up a finger. "How do you propose to see the King and gain his help if Barbossa has you in irons on the _Pearl_?"

I drew down the corners of my mouth in a show of distaste. "I must try whether I can be agreeable enough that he grants me some small freedoms aboard ship. When we reach Pencarren, I shall use Calypso's spancel to bind him; he won't be able to move, and therefore can do nothing to prevent me from going ashore."

"Hmm, fair enough, then," Jack commented with an approving nod. "Sounds quite effective." Then he grinned at me. "By the by, don't lose that item, darlin'; it sounds like something I could have a lot of fun with."

That evening, I sat with Teague and Jack for supper and a close conversation. I knew that Teague intended to relate a tale of some kind, but I could never have guessed what he was about to disclose.

After we had eaten our victuals, Teague pushed back his chair and took up his guitar, seeming almost to have forgotten my presence. He played a few lingering notes, gazing at nothing in particular. I glanced at Jack, but he was watching his father, and gave me no notice.

Then Teague put his hand on the strings, silencing the instrument. "I know you mean to square matters with Hanibal," he began. "If Barbossa plays a part, well and good. But there's more to it." He propped the guitar against the arm of his chair, and turned his dark stare upon me.

"I was sworn years ago not to speak or act upon the things I know about Hanibal Bitter," he said, locking his gaze on my eyes, "But now I hold that promise to be null and void. You've charted your course: and you've a right to know the state of the seas ahead. And that includes tellin' you about Marianne Bitter." He looked down at the table for several moments before continuing.

"Hanibal," he began slowly, "Murdered my two closest friends; and their blood has been callin' for justice these many years." I flashed a quick look at Jack, who was sitting quite still. It was apparent from his expression that he already knew whatever his father was about to relate.

Teague spoke quietly. "He wanted the money, ye see. Your grandfather Matthew wanted the property shared out amongst all three of his children." My eyes widened and I opened my mouth to speak, but Teague continued. "There was Hanibal, Harry - and their sister, Marianne." At this news, a great shock passed through me.

"But takin' a share, when he might have everything, wouldn't do for Hanibal," Teague went on. "And it was Marianne's life that he took first."

Something in the way he spoke her name and his enigmatic expression made me long to ask whether Marianne was more to him than a friend, but I was too undone by these discoveries to press my question. I tried to clear my throat to speak, but caught a warning look from Jack that silenced me.

"I was on a venture with Harry when Hanibal made his move," Teague told me. "His game was to hide Marianne's murder by claimin' she was lost at sea on a ship attacked by pirates. And Fortune served up a young privateer for Hanibal t' blame." I swallowed, and nodded.

"When we returned, Hanibal thought he had it all fixed. He showed the passenger list with her name on it, an' the coroner's verdict on the two bodies that washed ashore. He said the ship went down, and all the dogs that did it were hanged. Nice an' neat," Teague said; and though he smiled, his eyes were like obsidian, showing a glimpse of the fierce and deadly adversary he could be to any who threatened his friends, his family, or the Code.

"All dead," he went on in a low, reasonable voice, "Before we could ask 'em any questions, y'see? The only one who knew different was the man who helped Barbossa escape; and he had disappeared from Launceston."

And he unfolded Hanibal's plan, so that I finally understood how my uncle had arranged for his cronies to attack the _Wayfarer_, sink her, then swear that Barbossa was to blame – all to seal the fate of my unfortunate aunt, so that no one could ever prove she was killed by her own brother, and not "lost at sea".

"But we knew Hanibal's character, and that weighed more with us than all the rest of it," Teague went on. "We kept after him, looking for answers, until he disappeared abroad."

"How is it that I never knew any of this?" I asked. "Did my father not fear his brother might return someday to finish what he'd started?"

"Ay, but you bein' not a year old, he wanted to spare you from bearin' the burden as long as he could." Teague looked at Jack for the first time. "_All of us_ pledged to keep the secret until you came of age and Harry could tell you, but his own time ran out first."

I struggled to keep my balance as my world seemed to shift upon its axis; then, a single question forced itself from my lips. "And what of the other friend he killed?" I asked, as dread slowly opened its petals like some dark flower growing in my breast.

"That was years later," Jack said, as gently as possible. "Haven't you guessed, mouse? It was Captain Harry."

This news made me feel wild and overwhelmed, and my friends calmed me with gentle words and a good portion of rum. When I had recovered somewhat, I finally understood the stakes in the game I was playing.

Fearing his brother might return to make a clean sweep of us all, what could my father do, but prepare me as much as possible to defend myself and to escape, should I be captured? He took me travelling with him because he knew that if Hanibal returned in his absence, it would mean my death. Hanibal had likely grown accustomed to people fearing him and fleeing his attacks, I thought. He would not be expecting his niece to return, intent on defeating him and exacting revenge.

"It's time to fulfil me own purpose," Teague told me. "Now you know your uncle's history, you can take your own decisions – I won't interfere or show my hand. But you'll find the _Troubadour_ joinin' you in Pencarren. I've waited long enough." I nodded, thinking that, when I petitioned the King, I would do my best to secure an Act of Grace for Teague and Jack, a common enough article amongst pirates.

I had one remaining question, and I tried to avoid implicating Jack. "I've heard . . . tales . . . that, at one time, my father might have had an amulet. . ."

"The one we never found?" Teague threw a hard look at Jack. "And where did you hear that?" Then he turned back to me. "No one knows what became of the Basilikon, Nina. And I'm not one to live my life in fear of what I don't know. If Hanibal's got it, so be it. I mean t' avenge the deaths of Harry and Marianne. After that, it'll be whatever's on the cards."

Later that night, I charged Jack with holding back the truth. "So you knew the story all along! Even if you had not told me this terrible history, why not at least tell me you knew of Barbossa, and that he had been badly wronged by my uncle, when you signed him on to the _Pearl_? I feel as though I've done him an injustice. Perhaps I should seek an Act of Grace for him as well."

Jack protested vehemently. "Don't you dare! If Barbossa would ransom you to your uncle, I promise you there's no penalty too heavy. King George can keep him!"

Then he spoke in a more conciliatory tone. "And as for tellin' you, I wanted to, darlin'. But I couldn't exactly say 'Oh, he's the one your uncle-you-never-met blamed for killing your aunt-that-you-never-heard-of as part of a scandal-your-father-never-mentioned, now, could I? It would seem to beg a number of awkward questions, savvy? And frankly, I'm not sure anyone but me dad knows the answers to all of 'em."

The _Troubadour_ came to the Tortuga road the next day, and Rufus and I made ready to go ashore. As Jack saw me off with a quick embrace, he admonished me. "I hope you know what you're doing, love. And remember, I'm trustin' you – _again_ – with me ship!"

"I hope to see you soon, Jack," I called out as I climbed down the ladder to the longboat.

"Not if I see you first, Trouble," he called back, with a sly smile.

Teague's men rowed us to shore and left us at the dock. It was still early by Tortugan standards, and most of the town's inhabitants were sleeping off the previous night's depravities. The harsh sunlight made the sandy dirt of the unpaved streets fairly glitter, as Rufus led me through the town and then into the sudden darkness of a small tavern.

As my eyes adjusted to the light, I saw the place was nearly empty due to the earliness of the hour. Rufus seated me at a table near the back, and went to order a bottle. When he returned, he tossed a letter upon the table. "Tes directed t' 'Miss N Bitter'," he said with a grin. I glanced at it, determined by the hand in which it was written that it came from Captain Swann, and stowed it, unopened, in my sack.

"So, Cap'n told ye the tale o' the _Wayfarer_," Rufus remarked, pouring our drinks. I nodded and took a swallow of rum.

"T'was a fine job Hanibal made of it – a good yarn o' bloodthirsty pirates, a missin' body, an' justice sarved wi' all th' scallywags hanged." He gave a short laugh. "If Barbossa hadn't escaped, there'd be not a soul left t' call 'im a liar." He stared at his tankard for a few moments.

"But I d' wonder, Nina," he asked. "Why such a grand plot? Why all 'em murders, an' hangings, an' puttin' 'ur in a secret grave? It d' seem a lot o' bother."

"It does," I agreed, "And I think it was partly to protect himself from my father and Teague. They would demand proofs of what happened to Marianne; Hanibal's word alone wouldn't suffice. So he charged piracy, and engineered a public trial and hangings." I took a swallow of rum and sighed.

"However," I told him, "I believe the true answer is even simpler: he enjoys it so very much, Rufus. Hanibal takes enormous pleasure from his own skillful wickedness; the bigger the fraud, the more people he draws in, the better. And it would have amused him greatly to have Teague and my father searching for poor Marianne, when he knew precisely where she was." I hesitated, then added a bit of explanation.

"You know, after my father died, Hanibal had it in his power to kill me right away," I told him. "But he found that it pleased him much more to arrange . . ." I tried, but could not continue. "He takes great pride in his own elaborate designs," I concluded.

Rufus was quiet for a time, then said, "An' tes that what'll undo 'im. Mark me words, Nina. 'Ee'll do summat in 'is pride, an' that'll be when ye can bring 'im down. There be a Greek word what means that sort o' pride . . ."

"Yes, it's _hubris_," I said, "And I pray you're right."

Rufus raised his glass. "T' Marianne, God rest 'ur," he said.

"To Marianne," I answered, "and to Harry. May they be avenged." We lifted our glasses and drank our solemn toast.

Rufus and I spent the remainder of the afternoon finishing off the rum whilst he explained the intricacies of piratical negotiations to me. "We've t' keep a sharp eye on everyone comin' in t' the kiddley," he said, lowering his voice. "If I were tradin' ye in earnest, I'd have ye stowed away safe somw'ere. 'Ee mustn't see that yer 'ere, or 'ee'll smell a rat, an' twell be out wi' th' knives an' off wi' th' prize."

Daylight was fading, and lanterns were lit near the bar, but the rest of the taproom was still dark. All at once, Rufus gave me a sharp elbow and motioned me to hide behind a dusty red curtain. He put my tankard on the floor at his feet and tossed my sack after me. I concealed myself and my belongings, and then found a little worn spot in the curtain though which I could get a very poor view of part of the room. Yet, though my vision was sorely reduced, I recognised Barbossa's figure immediately as he entered the tavern and called for a drink. Even from this distance he looked to be in a rare temper.

Looking around as he drank, he saw Rufus and acknowledged his presence. Then, pushing away a whore who had tried to take his arm, he came to sit at Rufus' table. There was a momentary silence.

"Why, if it edn't Cap'n Barbossa," Rufus said at last, in a slow, agreeable manner.

"Did ye bring her?" asked Barbossa.

"Mebbe." Rufus took a swig of rum, refusing to be hurried.

"Did we or did we not have an accord?" Barbossa asked brusquely.

"Ais, Cap'n, only I d'see 'ee standin' empty-handed as t'were." Rufus sounded utterly uninterested in the transaction.

"If ye have her, we've t' agree on when an' where we make the exchange."

Rufus drained his tankard, set it down, and leaned towards Barbossa. I could imagine his grin and the gleam in his eye as he spoke. "Twell be like this, Cap'n," he said, in a cordial tone. "You sends a boat t' the harbour at midnight wi' me compensation aboard, an' one o' yer gentlemen . . . _one_. I brings t' article yer seekin' in another boat. I shows 'ur face, 'ee shows the payment – an' I means the true count of it, not just flashin' a pile o' coin at me, then we each board t' other's boat, as easy as scratch." Rufus rubbed his chin. "An' the watchword 'll be 'bitter'," he added almost as an afterthought.

There was a brief silence, then I saw Barbossa's hat move as he nodded. "Agreed," he said.

He rose from the table and made his way out, followed by a train of whores plucking at his sleeve and importuning him, as he craned his neck towards them to hear their offers.

At around midnight, Rufus seated me in a small, dirty boat he had paid a cheap price to borrow. Then, looking very concerned and drawing his forehead into worried creases, he gave me his final bit of counsel.

"Mind yerself once ye come t' yer destination. I tell ye, Barbossa won't be thinkin' o' yer life or even his own by then, neithar ship nor crew."

"What will he be thinking of?" I asked.

"Winnin'," answered Rufus. "That be 'ow a good fighter thinks, an' that be 'im. Jest so's ye knaw. Look how 'ee took 'em right inside the maelstrom against Davy Jones. Don't expect no accommodations t' be made or pretty words spoke," he warned me with a shake of his head.

I nodded. "Yes, he went straight to the heart of the danger. He is a very brave man, I'll give him that."

One side of Rufus' mouth curled up in a smile. "Yer the same sort o' fighter as 'im, lass; yer always choosin' the maelstrom as well. The two o' ye should understand each other." I was caught utterly off guard by this observation, and could not find a reply.

Rufus put me in irons and placed a gag in my mouth. Next, he drew his pistol, cocked the hammer back, and laid it in front of him. "Jest in case," he muttered. "Mind ye don't kick nothin', lass."

He put a sack over my head, and tossed the bag with my belongings into the boat. Then he rowed us out to the harbour and handed me off to the faithful Pintel, who, in exchange for the key to my irons, produced a pouch of gold, which Rufus counted by the light of his lantern, and a small cage containing Barbossa's pet monkey. _Barbossa's expectations must be extreme_, I thought, marvelling that Rufus had successfully got the monkey as part of his price for me.

When the exchange was complete, Pintel rowed me out past the harbour, then pulled the sack off my head and removed the gag from my mouth.

"Sorry for the inconvenience, missy," he remarked brightly. "Cap'n says you're a valuable captive; wouldn't want t' go mussin' yer hair, now, would we?" He chortled at his own little jest and then began to pull towards the_ Pearl_ with great energy.

"I suppose your messmate is waiting to receive us?" I asked him.

"Oh ay, miss, Rags n' me will give ye a proper reception!" he assured me with an eager grin. "Cap'n would expect no less."

I sat quietly; inwardly, I offered a silent appeal to Calypso for the success of my venture, and hoped it would not prove to be a foolish, reckless design that would cost me my life. The lights and roistering bustle of Tortuga faded into the distance, and at last there was darkness save for the stars, and silence, broken only by the slapping noises of the water, the creak of the oars, and Pintel's grunts as he strained at his work.

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Next: Chapter 16 Captivity - In which the present captain of the _Pearl_ has arrangements in place to ensure everyone a pleasant journey.


	16. Captivity

******Disclaimer:** I have no claim whatsoever to any part of the Pirates of the Caribbean franchise. The original characters and original plots are owned by me.

* * *

**Captivity**

Once aboard the _Pearl_, Pintel and Ragetti led me to my old cabin by the light of a small lantern. They seated me in a chair, placing the lantern upon a table, and the sack with my belongings upon the bed. Then they departed, leaving me still in irons.

Almost immediately, Barbossa entered the room with long strides and not a word of greeting. He held the key to my irons in his hand, and I watched him tuck it into a pocket of his waistcoat.

"I see you're in charge of Jack's ship, again," I remarked. He made no response.

Standing so close that he almost straddled my knees, he began to search my hair for pins, calmly and methodically. He tipped my head forward so that my forehead rested just above his waist, and I felt the smooth rise and fall of his ribcage as he drew deep, steady breaths. Each discovered pin was gently removed and placed upon the table.

This process continued for several minutes, and strangely, my instinctive fear receded, and I began to feel what was almost a languid enjoyment under his touch and the caressing movements of his hands as he searched. The weariness of the long day overtook me as I closed my eyes and quietly exhaled. Gradually, my hair was all unbound and hung in heavy waves almost to my waist. Still he searched patiently, in silence, touching each strand and stroking my head. Finally, he tipped my chin up and rested his hands lightly on my neck.

"Now, little bird," he said in a tone of satisfaction, "D' ye swear upon yer honour that there be no other pins hidden in yer feathers? Or shall I search the rest of ye?" He drew his hands down to my shoulders.

"I give you my word," I answered quickly.

"Very well, m'girl," he said. "We have summat of a voyage ahead of us, and t'would be well t' inform ye of me terms." He stepped to the bed and, unwrapping my belongings, began to arm himself with my weapons. The scimitar he hung from his belt, the pistols were added to his own that he always wore. The badge, locket and small books he dropped into a pocket of his coat, and did likewise with the pins from my hair. The letter from Captain Swann he tossed onto the berth.

"Ye can keep yer old cabin an' travel in comfort," he announced. "I'll not have it said that I don't know how t' entertain a lady o' quality. Yer t' be given free run o' the _Pearl_, but I'm inclined t' keep them bracelets on ye. Have a care makin' yer way about, since I'm determined t' hand ye over to yer uncle in fine condition. He'll be well pleased that yer back from the dead," he added with a little smirk of victory.

He advanced to the door, but turned back. "Oh, and if ye take it into yer head to try me on any matter," he said cheerfully, "Everything of yers that I'm carryin' on me person will be goin' over the side and straight t' the bottom as quick as I can fling it – without notice. Since we're makin' passage to Cornwall, that'll be hundreds o' fathoms deep. Now, be a good girl, an' let's have no more unpleasantness." He smiled, picked up the lantern, and departed, leaving me in darkness.

I breathed a sigh of relief that the spancel, twisted about to resemble a rosette at my waist, had escaped his attention.

The next day, I remained in my cabin and avoided Barbossa; however, Pintel and Ragetti conveyed his request that I join him for supper that night in his quarters. I surmised that he must be missing the company of Jack the monkey; however, having no desire to keep the entire voyage in circumstances befitting a penitent, I accepted. In the absence of my hairpins, I prevailed upon Ragetti to supply a strip of cloth to bind my tresses into a loose pigtail. Once I arrived for supper, Barbossa removed my irons and waved me to a seat at the table, which was well furnished with victuals.

"Come, m'girl, " he said with a genial sweep of his hand, "There be no reason fer us not t' enjoy a good supper, an' make ourselves as easy as we can. There be many a long evenin' on a passage such as this." He filled a silver goblet with wine and handed it to me.

"Thank you, Captain," I replied, placing the goblet on the table. "You must find my company pleasing indeed since it cost you your money, which cannot be plentiful, and your pet."

He shrugged, unperturbed. "I have enough t' keep meself in a proper station, and Jack always finds his way back t' me."

"Back to Cornwall? That is where you're taking me, if I understood you. I see you have decided to ransom me to the Judge and procure your fortune." I watched as he served himself from the platters of fish and fowl set out for our supper.

Barbossa smiled exultantly, his eyes glinting at the mention of a fortune. "Indeed I have," he said, grandly. "And since ye ain't been willin' or able t' say why he tried t' send me t' be stretched, I intend t' ask him meself when I hand ye over. Killin' two birds with one stone, so to speak. Try the goose, missy," he added with a grim chuckle, indicating a large roasted bird. "There be more than one I mean t' cook."

_I daresay,_ I thought, but only replied, "Have a care, Captain, or you may end by sharing the oven with the next goose. My uncle is more treacherous than the Father of Lies himself."

"T'is kind of ye t' inform me," he said, in sweetly ironic tones, "but I know how to tend me own business, and ye needn't concern yerself on that account, especially seein' as ye were ready t' kill me yerself more than once." Laughing, he made ready to eat his supper.

I had decided that it was only fair to tell him what I had discovered about his trial, though I was minded to avoid any mention of Teague. "Since our last meeting, I have discovered the reason you were so used," I told him simply.

He put down his knife and stared.

I took a drink from my goblet and began to tell him what I knew. "Many years ago," I began, "Hanibal determined to rid himself of any co-heirs to my grandfather's property. There were two: his brother Harry, and sister Marianne. He murdered Marianne first. His plan was to conceal the murder by claiming she was one of the _Wayfarer_ victims, though she was never on the ship. For all I know, Hanibal may have killed her at Highcliffe House. It would certainly have been safe for him to do so." The thought of my home being the scene of such devilry brought me very low indeed.

"When you hailed the _Wayfarer_, her passengers and crew were already dead, probably hidden under a tarpaulin in the hold. The men you saw were the ruffians my uncle sent to do the work." As I spoke, Barbossa gazed at me with a strange expression that was a mix of suspicion and something like respect.

"Hanibal desired a quick trial and execution, so he kept the charges to Butler and Trennick. The coroner's inquest established that they were murdered, so it only remained to lay the blame on you. You were meant to be dead before my father could return from abroad, so that he would hear but one account - Hanibal's."

Barbossa knitted his brows, nodding slowly, but continued to look at me with suspicion. "How came ye t' know all this?" he asked sharply.

"I spoke to certain people at Shipwreck Cove and discovered matters that had been kept from me," I replied.

"An' four unwittin' seamen was hanged fer his villainy – almost five," Barbossa mused.

"You did nothing to merit the injustice inflicted upon you," I said, staring at my goblet. "He chose you at random to answer to a scheme of his own devising, and he cared not a louse if you went to the gallows - you were merely a loose end that had to be seen to. But there is more."

I tapped my fingers upon the table, determined to keep my composure for the rest of my tale. "When my father returned, Hanibal's tale did not deceive him; he persisted in asking questions and making trouble, until Hanibal fled England and disappeared. Through the years, my father always watched for his return. Nearly eighteen years later, Hanibal waylaid and killed him on Bodmin Moor."

I hesitated, unsure how to phrase my growing suspicions about the Basilikon. "It is also possible that Hanibal took something from him . . . a kind of protection charm, but . . . I don't really know," I said. I decided to let the subject drop, doubting that he would believe such a tale in any case.

Perhaps I was still disturbed by the injustice Barbossa had suffered, for now my conscience began to trouble me. Was it right for me to turn him over to the King's justice without making sure that he deserved such a fate? My opinion of Barbossa had been formed more than ten years ago, but now I decided to try whether I might appeal to his better nature. If he showed any sense of honour or mercy, I would not abandon him to King George. With this intention, I fixed my gaze upon his face, pleading with him.

"Can you not see what will happen when you return me to that felon's control?" I asked. "I, too, have a claim to this property, which makes me the one remaining obstacle. With my death, Hanibal's triumph will be complete." I looked into Barbossa's stony eyes, and begged as gently as I could. "You are ferrying me back to be murdered. Please . . . don't take me to him."

I extended my hand across the table to him, giving him a chance to show me some sign that I had misjudged him. Barbossa had listened to my story with keen interest, but his face gave me no clue to his thoughts. I waited, but he seemed to be evaluating my words, and made no answer.

"Very well, Captain," I sighed at last. "Keep your own counsel if you so choose. But does not a condemned prisoner merit a last request? If I cannot dissuade you from this venture, will you at least try to kill Hanibal? Keep whatever riches there are – I care nothing for them. But will you promise to kill him? Even if he has already killed me?"

At this, Barbossa gave me a long, appraising look, and one corner of his mouth tightened. "What else did Hanibal do to ye?" he asked, after a silence.

"What do you mean?" I countered, looking down at the table. "I've told you what he did to me." But I knew even as I spoke that he would not be gulled so easily.

"Revenge is an old acquaintance o' mine," he replied, narrowing his eyes and regarding me with his customary lynx-like expression. "I know what it looks like, smells like, tastes like. And by the powers, I can smell it all over ye." He leaned forward and I shrank back in my chair. "And I know there be somethin' more – somethin' y' ain't sayin'," he added, peering keenly into my face.

I shook my head; all at once my throat felt very dry.

"No?" he said, lifting his eyebrows. "Well, ye'll tell me in yer own time. Or I'll discover it m'self." Then he leaned back in his chair and softened his manner. "Be easy, little bird. I owe ye thanks fer tellin' me what ye know about the old Judge's villainy."

Relieved at escaping his unwelcome questions, I picked at my supper, thinking that there would be some other opportunity to discern Barbossa's true character.

He poured more wine for me, and coaxed me to eat. "Ye can't eat like a finch an' keep body an' soul together" he said solicitously. "Trust in me sense of fair play, an' let the matter o' Hanibal tend itself fer now. Enjoy yer supper, an' we'll make a pleasant ev'nin' together."

As I ate, he asked my opinion on each dish I tried, which were all most savoury and enjoyable. He smiled and took pains to see that I was well fed and my mind distracted from any thought of Hanibal. Pouring more wine, he began to regale me with the most diverting tales from this or that adventure that he recollected.

To my surprise, his conversation gradually drew me into an affable frame of mind, and as he kept my cup filled, I began to think he was the best-humoured man in the world. Each time I smiled or laughed at one of his jests, he warmed to his discourse anew, and seemed to bask in the admiring glances I showed him. His smile, which I had always found pleasing, made my heart glad and we laughed and talked easily. I thoroughly enjoyed the table he had set, and found his expressive eyes and face increasingly attractive as I gazed at him in the candlelight.

During a lull in the conversation, I became aware how much I was reminded of other evenings, spent in merry company at Highcliffe House long ago. It was the first time in more than ten years that the sense of being home surrounded me. A strange sense of happiness had settled in my breast.

At the end of the meal, he locked me in irons once more, and bade me a pleasant "good-night." Pintel and Ragetti accompanied me to my cabin to ensure my safe arrival.

We enjoyed another congenial supper the next night, during the course of which he recalled his exchange with me many years ago, when he was Mate and quartermaster on the _Pearl_. He made a jest at the heedless proposition I had offered him to settle our differences with weapons.

"I don't deny yer courage and boldness," he said with a loud laugh, "but ye need to learn to keep yer head. Yer skills and strength are naught compared to mine, m' girl, and I could have easily cut ye t' pound pieces."

I had already decided to acquaint him with a circumstance that I hoped would favour an increase in his trust, so I replied, "I concede that I spoke to you rashly that day; still, strength and skill may be overthrown. Even the strongest and most skilled man may be killed easily when asleep."

He darted a sharp look at me, and I arched my eyebrows in surprise.

"Did you not know? It was I who brought you to Tia Dalma from Isla de Muerta. She wove a magical spancel with strands of my hair such that I alone may use it safely. She sent me into the cave to encircle you with the spancel, binding your soul and body together. There were two men – flesh or spirit I cannot say – who placed us in a phantom boat, in which we voyaged back to Tia Dalma. My lap was the pillow on which your head rested. In that state, I could have disposed of you easily, superb swordsman that you may be."

He listened to this recitation with a half-smile and an unreadable expression. After a moment's pause, he suddenly flashed a sly, knowing grin. "But ye didn't," he remarked with a laugh.

"Was it me good looks or fine figure that stayed yer hand?" he teased me. "In any case, ye wouldn't be enjoyin' this sumptuous banquet had ye killed me." I joined in his laughter, but lowered my eyes.

He took a long drink of wine and, half smilingly, regarded me with a meditative look. "An' all this time I thought t'were a dream," he said, almost to himself. His words, something in his gaze, and the memory of him resting upon my lap, all conspired to bring a sudden warmth to my face, but then he abruptly dismissed his own remark.

"An' who's t' say it weren't?" he said gruffly. "There be all manner o' foolish dreams, an' most be forgot as soon as we wake." Then he looked at me a bit cautiously, and added, "I don't suppose ye remember most things ye dream?"

Rather than mention any of my odd dreams, I merely shook my head, "No." He smiled and changed the subject; but his talk about dreams had made me uneasy, and I was relieved when supper ended.

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Next: Chapter 17 - The Scandal at Highcliffe - In which Barbossa makes a discovery.


	17. The Scandal at Highcliffe

**Disclaimer: **I have no claim whatsoever to any part of the Pirates of the Caribbean franchise. The original characters and original plots are owned by me.

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**Author's Note: This chapter does not contain any graphic material that would require an M rating, but it is a strong T. It contains a brief description of past events that reference adult themes and suggest sexual activity. It may be too strong for younger readers, so please use good judgment.**

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**The Scandal at Highcliffe**

After several more days of similarly convivial meals, the _Pearl_ was riding at anchor off the coast of Charles Town waiting for the wind that would take us to Cornwall. Our suppers had undergone a series of subtle changes that took place gradually and in a rather mysterious manner. As an illustration, the first three suppers I attended found my place adorned with a different tankard or glass each evening. Nothing was said about it, but when I admired one crystal goblet with a pretty, twisting spiral in its stem, I found it set out for me every night thereafter.

Likewise, the merits of various dishes were one of Barbossa's favourite topics of conversation, and it appeared that those I had praised began to find their way to his table more frequently. And lastly, there were the occasions themselves: at first, one or two particular invitations to supper were conveyed to me, but after almost a week had passed, I found that somehow I seemed to be taking all of my meals with Barbossa.

On the fourth day of our voyage, Ragetti had delivered, without comment, a fine silk ribbon for me to use in securing my pigtail. After he left, I spent some time examining this item, the sender's identity being obvious. It was the first present (if such it could even be called) that I had received from any male acquaintance since the days when I was courted by James, and though it made me feel accepted and welcomed into the little community of souls that populated the _Black Pearl_, it also made me a bit melancholy. When I wore the new ribbon, I felt somewhat abashed in Barbossa's presence, wondering what he would say. He made no remark, but once or twice during supper, I thought I detected him glancing at it with a slight smile.

We waited nearly a week a week off Charles Town, with everyone hoping for signs of a favourable wind before tedium lengthened our days and shortened our tempers overmuch. On the last day before the wind changed, Barbossa discovered another pirate ship, bound for Carolina but preparing to lay by, and the two vessels hailed each other in the traditional manner by firing their guns in the air. Messages were exchanged, and the other ship's captain was rowed over to the _Pearl_, to join Barbossa for a spell of drinking and pipe smoking. I heard much loud talking and laughing from the captain's quarters, and knew the two men would be occupied for several hours.

I cast my eyes about my cabin restlessly, and noticed the letter from Captain Swann that I had yet to open. Deciding that this was an opportune time for reading, I opened the letter and read the following words:

_Dear Miss Bitter,_

_I write this at the behest of your friend, who speaks of you highly and with affection. Although my intention is not to beg your forgiveness, neither do I wish you to be burdened with a false understanding of the events which have naturally grieved you so. As to the first transgression of which I am accused, be assured that I was compelled to sacrifice Jack for the life of one to whom I have pledged my uttermost loyalty and devotion, and that I have done all I can to make amends._

_As to Admiral Norrington, let me express my sympathy, knowing how much he meant to you. James died because, in the end, he chose to act for the cause in which he believed, and we must honour him for that._

_I hope this letter finds you well, and that in the future we may meet as friends._

_Elizabeth_

_Rex Piratarum_

I re-read the first sentence; so Jack had urged her to treat me kindly. In the days following my confrontation with her, I had repented of my behaviour and acknowledged its true cause - the jealousy I had felt, knowing that she had been so important to James. I wondered if I would be alive long enough to pen a reply after I reached Cornwall.

In time, our guest departed back to his own ship, ladened with gifts of food and drink supplied by Barbossa's hospitality. Shortly thereafter, I was invited to the captain's quarters.

When I entered, Barbossa was seated at the table, dividing an apple with a large knife, and dropping the slices onto a plate. The smoky room was filled with a great stink of tobacco and rum, and the table was littered with bottles, tankards and clay pipes, whose contents had been emptied onto the floor. Motioning for me to sit, Barbossa pushed the plate towards me. "We'll be eatin' later than usual tonight," he announced. "Ye must want refreshment. Have a bite of apple." As he spoke, he helped himself to a slice in a more deliberate fashion than his usual manner of eating.

"I've just been sharin' a pipe 'n a drink with an old acquaintance o' mine, from years gone by," he continued. "Since he hails from Cornwall," – at this, a tremor coursed through me - "I deemed it opportune t' ask fer tidin's from home." He watched me as I sat staring down at the apple slices.

"He says the waters near Pencarren are become a byword even amongst lawless pirates," Barbossa began. "The old Judge be the terror o' those parts, sinkin' any vessel he pleases, promisin' quarter an' then puttin' every man t' the sword. He reigns over the coastline with a heavy hand that no one dare challenge – not even the King's men go within ten miles o' the town these days. Pencarren be fair garrisoned with his men an' defended by batteries o' cannon. There be few townspeople left, an' they do his will as if he's lord o' the very earth: if they don't, he knows how to use 'em, what with floggin', hangin', an' worse." He stopped for a moment, perhaps expecting me to speak.

_Did you not believe me?_ I thought, but I said nothing. I was possessed by an awful fear that Barbossa had learned my most closely guarded secret and was preparing to recite it to me.

"The Judge's men keep a close eye on the shore paths an' he's got his gold stowed in the caves where the cliffs fall straight t' the sea. They say there be enough swag in there t' pay the King's army fer a year – though who knows the true count, says I." He spoke in a tone of unconcern, and paused again.

I became aware that all of my muscles were taut and strained, and my breathing was shallow. There was no escape for me; I was trapped by my own immobility, condemned to listen to all of the news Barbossa had gleaned from his friend. I prayed that he was still ignorant of my own trials_._

"Me mate also told a tale o' the old devil's dealin's with his niece." Another pause, during which I remained as still as stone. Barbossa shrugged, "A' course, men tell many an idle tale over strong drink." _Here it comes_, I thought.

"Accordin' to him, the same week the Judge made himself the new master of Highcliffe House, he declared an auction – an auction t' appease his companions an' put the town on notice o' what kind of a man he was." Barbossa took a slice of apple from the plate, and ate it in silence. I swallowed, trying to make no sound at all. _How many details does he know? _I wondered.

"T'is said he poisoned his niece with enough opium t' knock her senseless, an' had her carried t' the Great Hall. She was stripped naked an' displayed on the table before a fine company o' vermin, an' auctioned off t' act as a 'wife' t' the highest bidder." He cleared his throat.

"The niece," he continued, carefully maintaining the fiction that he was not speaking of me, "the niece was sold t' one Mawgan Curnow, accordin' t' me mate."

His voice grew hard. "An' this bilge rat, after usin' her as it suited him all night, invited the rest o' the dogs t' take her in turn the next morning . . . in his presence, if ye please. That night, she disappeared, and no sign of her since that day."

_Everything, _I thought, squeezing my eyes shut and feeling utterly undone. _He knows everything that happened. I wonder if it made a good tale. I wonder if he and his old friend laughed over their rum when they discussed it. _But Barbossa's voice had no hint of merriment or triumph in it.

"There be stories that she took ship fer the West Indies." His story complete, he looked at my bowed head.

I remained frozen. I realised how far I had managed to distance myself from the horror of that dreadful day, as all my old terrors rose up and laid siege to my heart. I knew that the back of my neck was flushed red with shame and anger, and that Barbossa could see this. Still, I would rather have died than shown any further sign of weakness to the man before me.

"And there be stories that the Judge means t' finish the job that was only half-started: he means t' have her life. At a handsome price, if need be, even after all these years."

I kept my silence, thinking _Please let someone call him to the helm, just please, please let him leave._

"Well, as ye said, some men are disinclined t' be thwarted," he concluded, recalling my remarks at Tia Dalma's shack. "Judgin' from all I've heard, he's one of 'em." He waited once more.

Teeth clenched, I made no reply.

After what seemed like an eternity, Barbossa nodded. "So that's it; that's how it were with ye," he said, in an almost kindly tone. "I told ye I'd discover what he did t' ye. Ye have no need t' speak on it."

He rose from the table and stood near my chair for a moment, then briefly rested his hand upon my back. I knew he meant to console me - I could hear the sympathy in his voice - but, instinctively, my shoulder blades slowly hardened and drew together, the muscles in my back stiffening until I could feel the strain of it, even in my arms. Thankfully, he departed for the quarterdeck before my passions overthrew my composure. I hoped desperately that neither Barbossa nor any of the crew would enter the room while I sat at the table with my face in my hands, exhausted from sobbing. As soon as I could gather my thoughts, I slipped out of the room and returned to my cabin, careful to avoid being seen by anyone.

Following this conversation, if such it may be termed, I kept my cabin. I could not bear the thought of food, and the prospect of company was intolerable to me. Barbossa had sounded the depths of the worst wound in my heart, and I felt undone and exposed.

The next afternoon, my door was left ajar to admit more air, since we were in the midst of the "horse latitudes" and the breezes were light. I was in low spirits, gazing through the small porthole, when I heard the sound of approaching footsteps. The sound ceased just outside my cabin, and Barbossa put his head through the doorway.

"There be somethin' astern of us that I'd show ye," he said, "If ye'd be so kind as t' join me on deck. Let me help ye." With that, he offered me his hand for support, since I remained in my irons. His manner was gently encouraging, and somehow, without words, he managed to imply that he intended to speak no more of Hanibal's auction. He assisted me up the stairs, and brought me up onto the quarterdeck, to the stern rail.

Once there, it was clear what he meant to show me: the most curious and magnificent clouds were forming on the horizon far astern of us. Whilst most of the sky surrounding the _Pearl_, as far as the eye could see, was a delicate blue with wispy clouds far off on the horizon, the south-western quarter was completely covered by an enormous, densely packed, spiral mass of towering, slate-coloured clouds that almost touched the sea. The lower portion of this massive formation was a horizontal band of deep, inky blue, beyond any shade I had ever seen. Every aspect of the storm portended rain of such proportions that Noah himself would have feared that his ark would be overthrown.

Within the tops of the clouds, faint flashes of lightning were visible. I was struck by the majesty of this ominous sight and, forgetting my sombre ruminations, turned to Barbossa.

"T'is a hurricane, bound for Carolina, by the look of it," he told me. "Have y' ever seen one at sea?"

"No," I answered. "I would never expect such beauty! But its violence must be beyond imagining. I don't suppose there are many among the living who could tell of it."

He nodded. "The first thing ye notice is the way the glass falls, and the sound o' the wind. Then the sea state changes until the waves crowd round yer ship from all directions an' ye lose steerage in no time."

"Then you have encountered a hurricane at sea?" I asked. He remained facing the water, but gave me a sidelong look. "Ay, that I have, and were the only soul left alive, though it ain't a tale I'm known fer tellin'."

This surprised me – I had not yet heard of a tale that Barbossa did not relish telling. I hesitated to ask him outright for an account of the storm, fearing he would refuse me at once. Instead, I gave him interested looks and even tentatively slid my hand along the rail towards his; but I miscalculated and the edges of our hands nearly touched. To my surprise, he quickly trapped two of my fingers between his, and we stood with our hands partly entwined.

He did not look at me, but after a moment, he began to tell me a most extraordinary tale.

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Next: Chapter 18 - Barbossa and the Storm - Barbossa relates a little-known tale and Nina's eyes are opened.


	18. Barbossa and the Storm

******Disclaimer:** I have no claim whatsoever to any part of the Pirates of the Caribbean franchise. The original characters and original plots are owned by me.

* * *

**Barbossa and the Storm**

"T'were many years past," Barbossa began, "when I crewed fer Henry Morgan. We had made prize of a brigantine, an' Morgan sent me over with ten others t' take her to an inlet towards the west fer cleanin', while he cruised t' Jamaica t' make a good market with the rest of our booty." I felt a small glow of admiration as I looked at him, imagining him younger, but still with his commanding ways; so skilled and trusted that the great Henry Morgan gave him charge of the brigantine.

"At first, we sailed with a fresh breeze, but the next day the glass began t' fall, an' by afternoon, t'were well-nigh unreadable. All this time, the wind were blowin' louder an' louder through the riggin', whinin' at first, but it came on at last like a thousand madmen howlin' with rage. Ye never heard a sound like it. T'is a noise like the voice of a Fury speakin' t' ye – it _knows_ where y' are, an' it calls ye by yer own name, threatenin' an' cursin' ye," he said in a tone that made me shudder uneasily.

"The waves were breakin' higher an' higher, comin' at us from every direction; and as the tops rolled over an' crashed all round us, they made a loud, boomin' noise like the storm was cannonadin' the ship with great guns. The wind was tearin' at the tops o' the waves, sendin' foam an' spray flyin' through the air; but it strikes ye like serpents' teeth bitin' ye, or scores o' sharp nails bein' hammered into yer skin, on account o' the force o' the wind.

"We could scarce hear our own voices as we shouted t' each other, an' with the canvas all torn to flinders there weren't naught t' be done. All our cargo tore loose," he said, waving his hand at the crates battened to the deck of the _Pearl_, "and the boxes and barrels on deck went t' smash' all around us, with pieces of iron an' wood flyin' like daggers through the air. Some o' the men lashed themselves t' the masts, an' we all held fast fer our lives, cursin' the luck that brought us t' this, an' knowin' our time was up."

_So they had all despaired of their lives_, I mused, _even this bold and daring man standing beside me_. And he knew, as I did, what it felt like to face violence utterly beyond one's control. He must have felt so helpless, so filled with dread, as if Death itself had become master of his ship. I nestled my hand a bit closer in his.

He hesitated a moment before recounting the next event. "One o' me mates," he told me, "An old seadog, lost his head as he stood on deck. A barrel stave took it off, neat as a cleaver." He paused and stole a quick glance at me. "Then the wind swept his headless body from the ship an' away into the storm."

I was sick with horror from his description of this waking nightmare, and also from the realisation that Barbossa himself could have met the same end.

He went on, calmly recounting the final destruction of his ship and crew. "More men was carried off the ship by the wind, flyin' into the sky like eiderdown. I held on t' a hatch cover as the ship broke apart an' was flung into the foamy water. I was that near t' drownin', with so much water in the air ye could hardly draw breath." He shook his head, frowning as though barely able to credit his own survival.

"I managed t' keep afloat, though I thought meself lost to the sea. I hung on t' the hatch cover until I could drag meself onto it an' float, half in the water, an' too battered t' notice that the ocean was drawin' down a bit, hour by hour. That night, the sea spewed me up on a small island. I couldn't shift meself from where the storm tide had dropped me, so dead tired that I fell asleep where I lay. I had nothin' with me from the wreck, and all her hands killed or drowned except me." I concentrated my gaze on his hand, thankful that he had survived.

"The next day I took stock o' me situation an' thought I would be endin' me days in that very spot. I had no provisions nor means of escape, an' with each breath I could number the ribs that was cracked by the storm. Me hip and leg were twisted about," he turned to me with a bitter smile, "an' now ye know how Barbossa got his limpin' stride. All in all, I was a sad damned dog, starvin' an' waitin' t' die."

As he coolly summed up his situation with these last words, I was filled with compassion, as well as gratitude that he had taken me into his confidence. I understood that he was speaking of matters he deemed humiliating – his own helplessness, pain and defeat – so that I would not feel utterly alone, and his generosity of spirit made my heart turn towards him.

He stared out at the horizon as he continued his tale. "After two days on that godforsaken spit o' sand," he said, "A ship hove in view, an' I thought I was saved. But the ship's master knew me from Morgan's crew, an' the rest of the gutless cowards refused t' take me on board their ship, unless t'were for a short passage t' Execution Dock. Seems they feared I might take their vessel, despite me injuries and all me protestations of honour. By an' by, with no very good will, they left me a few provisions. They said if I were still there the next time they passed by, they'd hang me themselves." He chuckled grimly. "An' they say t'is pirates that be wantin' in mercy."

_Injured, alone, and near death,_ I thought. _How could these pitiless scoundrels have treated him so vilely?_

"How, then, did you make your escape?" I murmured, clasping his hand tightly. I was very much moved by his story, although he had told it without the slightest sign of self-pity.

He smiled and moved a stray wisp of hair from my face."T'was someone ye know that saved me life," he said. "When all the provisions were gone, an' I thought the end had come, I opened me eyes one mornin' t' see a young woman walkin' towards me on the sand. I thought me senses were playin' tricks, but t' was none other than Tia Dalma. She stopped an' gave me a look. 'Well, I see ye ain't one whose fate is t' be drowned in the sea,' says she. 'Perhaps I can help ye, if yer willin' t' make a bargain.' An' so it was that we reached an accord: she would preserve me from death, an' I would see that the Brethren freed her."

He sighed as he looked out over the water. "T'was the work o' many years, but I've squared matters with her at last." He turned from the rail to face me.

"And you never gave up the sea," I remarked wonderingly. "Many men would have recoiled from any contact with it, but you . . ."

"Livin' me life on land might as well be hangin', fer what t' would cost me," he told me simply. "Me heart is with the sea, Nina. This be home."

At this mention of home, my thoughts turned to Pencarren and I wondered where my true home might be. Was it Highcliffe House, or Pencarren, or was I simply harkening to the memory of my childhood in those places? I remembered the feelings of happiness and ease that surrounded me each evening at supper with Barbossa in his quarters.

As I reflected on these questions, I stood closer to him, awkwardly and by degrees, and eventually leaned lightly against him. It was the beginning of a most improbable amity between two imperfect hearts.

The following night, I slept for only a short time before awakening in the darkest, earliest hours before daybreak. My thoughts turned to Barbossa, and I reflected upon how isolated he was. A captain must command his crew and not lose their respect by fraternizing with them – particularly such a magisterial captain as Barbossa. This was the price he paid – willingly – for following the sea. _How much companionship did he usually have aboard ship,_ I wondered, _other than his absent pet?_ I recalled the traits I noticed at supper – the way he enjoyed telling a tale, his quick sense of humour, his sociable nature; were these otherwise kept hidden? Yet, after hearing his account of the barbarous way he was treated by the crew he hoped would save him, I could well understand why he did not scruple to deal harshly with the world.

After lying for some time unable to close my eyes, I decided to dress and go on deck in hopes that the night breezes would prove a cure for my insomnia.

As I stepped out of the hatchway, I glanced up at the quarterdeck. To my surprise, a solitary figure was outlined again a moonless sky thick with stars. Barbossa must have taken the middle watch. He was standing near the rail, arms akimbo, apparently lost in thought.

I ascended the steps to the quarterdeck and went straight to his side. Without speaking, he drew me close, his arm about my shoulders. We stood gazing at the night in silence. The weather was fair and the wind light, but the touch of his arm made me shiver with a pleasant agitation. He spoke sharply to one of the crew working nearby, and in due course, a blanket was brought, which he draped around me like a shawl.

We stood there for a long time, watching in shared silence not only the wonders of the skies – the shooting stars, the glittering planets – but also the multitude of phosphorescent and iridescent sea creatures, blue and green and gold like sprites swimming in the waters about the ship. And all the while I rested against his side, with his arm holding me steady against the gentle motion of the ship in the early morning darkness.

When the morning watch was set, he escorted me down to the main deck. I endeavoured to find the proper words in which to proffer my friendship and affection, but they eluded me. We walked in silence to the door of my cabin, whereupon we faced each other. He wrapped his arms about me, and pressed me to his chest. A sudden burst of unexpected fear made me stiffen, as my heart hammered and my breathing came in panicky little gasps.

Barbossa saw my nervousness and released me. "Easy, lass," he said, and opened the door to my cabin. "I won't press ye. I'd have a word with ye privily." He ushered me into my cabin and closed the door before turning to me. He looked at me uncertainly for a moment, then drew me to his side, throwing an arm about my shoulders in a companionable way.

"Don't let it fright ye, m'girl," he said in his low, growling voice, which I had somehow come to find soothing. "T'is naught but an old wound troublin' ye. Ye have more in common with me than ye know. See, here." He released my shoulders and faced me.

Taking my fingers, he pressed them against the scar on his face. I focused my gaze upon his cheek and the corner of his mouth, anywhere as long as I might avoid his eyes. "Some wounds leave a scar, but ye feel nothing," he said, holding my fingers against his cheek.

He then pressed his fingers on the scar across my chin. "See?" I nodded, looking down at his hand.

"But only some wounds mend that way," he continued. "Me leg tells me every time the glass be fallin', an' when it does, I always recollect that hurricane. They wounded ye in Pencarren, and t'is still too soon t' know how yer wound will heal. Ye thought t' heal by keepin' t' yerself, but ye see the state yer in. T'is time ye try another way."

He lifted my chin with his hand. "What ye need is more companionship," he said firmly, "An' work t'occupy ye, so ye be not tempted t' brood on yer misfortunes." Then he smiled and said, "I propose t' put that quick mind of yers t' work, learnin' navigation. An' there's no finer teacher t' be found than m'self," he added, straightening his posture with a proud grin.

I smiled appreciatively, but hope did not stay with me long. "I know you mean well," I replied, very discouraged, "Yet . . . it may be too late. The wound you speak of was made many years ago. I fear it may have already healed, in the same manner as your leg."

Barbossa was silent for a moment, then drew his finger along the back of my hand. "Now . . . that would be a shame," he said in the same low growl.

Then he stepped to the door, adding, "Take yer rest now; I mean t' begin teachin' ye tomorrow." And with this, he departed.

As I lay on my berth, I tried to comprehend my confused yearnings for my former adversary. _How can this be happening to me?_ I wondered, wrapping the bed-clothes about me and imagining I was resting in his arms. _Surely Tia Dalma lied and this is nothing more than an effect of the spancel, and the loneliness of a long passage to Cornwall._

But even as I took refuge in these thoughts, I knew they were the merest excuses for the unacknowledged feelings growing silently within me. I could still feel the touch of his hand on my face, the weight of his arm across my shoulders, that single, lingering stroke of his finger across the back of my hand. Slowly, Barbossa was gentling me, winning my heart and bringing me to him as he must have patiently gained mastery over the wild little monkey that was so devoted to him. I dared not think of his touch lest it make me want so much more of him. This was the last thing I would have anticipated, in the days when I was planning to cross the ocean with Barbossa on the _Pearl_.

And what could I gather from the look I had glimpsed in his eyes, even as I turned away in confusion? Why could I not meet his gaze? Did I fear discovering some unspoken question there? Worst of all, what would Jack say if he knew? If these feelings – emotions that I could not bring myself to name – were reciprocated, it would surely ruin the lifelong friendship between myself and Jack.

Exhausted and troubled, I closed my eyes and tried to sleep; but instead, I pictured Jack, scolding me.

_"You're not serious - are you?"_ Imaginary Jack exclaimed. _"That old goat? He's just tryin' to get a leg over! He's still got those irons on you, don'ee? You're no more than a game to him! Show one sign of weakness an' he'll jump right on you! An' once that's over, he'll be off to the next one."_

"But he was so kind when he discovered the things that were done to me-" I began. Imaginary Jack cut me off.

_"Ay!" _he put in,_ "About that: not that it's any fault of yours, but now he knows you've already – well, YOU know! – and he'll be even more forward._ '_Just one more slice off a cut cake._' _That's what he's thinking!__"_

As Jack's likely reactions echoed in my mind, the pain they brought me was proof indeed of how deeply my foolish attachment had already taken hold. But Imaginary Jack had one more point to make.

_"Now, Brat,"_ I pictured him saying, very earnestly. _"Think, love: Barbossa is an old Pirate Lord who's sailed the world. He can buy the sauciest, most practised women in any port you care to name – loads of 'em. Why would he want you, eh?" _

At this, my eyes opened, and I felt a terrible ache of disappointment in my breast.

Even worse, I knew that, if only I could choose my own life, I would not be dissuaded from my folly, and all Jack's reasoning, however well-intended, would count for nothing. But if I followed my heart, what would become of me? I was fearful of being led into circumstances where my happiness would depend upon – _him._

I vowed to throttle my feelings, to bury them as completely as poor Marianne Bitter. I would show no further sign, and pay no heed to the troublesome promptings of my heart, which seemed determined to play me false. Gradually, I told myself, if I refused to name these feelings, they could be conquered and destroyed. A little more than two weeks remained before I could disembark in Pencarren; surely I could keep my emotions in check until then. _You were bred to be stoic,_ I told myself. _Stop entertaining impossibilities. _

For the first time in my life, I was acutely aware of my solitary, companionless bed. Reluctantly, I smoothed out the bed-clothes. He was not here, nor would I permit myself to imagine otherwise. As I fell asleep, I adjured myself to maintain strict limits on my new friendship. _This far, and no further,_ I thought sternly, unaware that all my preparations were fated to be overthrown the very next day.

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Next: Chapter 19 - Stirrings - In which a valuable captive reaps the consequences of a moment's carelessness.


	19. Stirrings

******Disclaimer:** I have no claim whatsoever to any part of the Pirates of the Caribbean franchise. The original characters and original plots are owned by me.

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**Stirrings**

My accident occurred on the morning following Barbossa's promise to teach me navigation. I admit that my thoughts were far away as I took my usual walk about the deck. Each day I hoped to glimpse the _Troubadour, _in spite of the fact that I hadn't the least idea whether Teague was still following the _Pearl_ or had been delayed by some unforeseen event. Since he had not told me how or when he planned to join me at Pencarren, I would only know his whereabouts when he actually arrived. Until then, it seemed wiser to depend only upon myself and Barbossa.

On this particular morning, I paced restlessly, pondering an unlikely suspicion that persisted in my mind. I heartily regretted not asking Teague the questions that now haunted me: was there something more to the history of my unfortunate aunt? Could the incredible truth be that Marianne had left a child when she died, and that child was Jack? I tried to attack this folly by arguing the absurdity of it not being known to myself or Jack, but nagging doubts remained. She would have been very young, and some development must have prompted my uncle to mark her as his first victim. And Jack had never been very forthcoming on the subject of his mother's identity.

I thought of how Jack and I had been brought up almost as brother and sister – could it be that he was my cousin? He had his father's dark hair and eyes, but were there any traces of my family as well? I was not certain whether Jack knew much more than I, since his father had kept the memory of Marianne a close secret. With such a meagre family tree as mine, the idea of having an unknown kinsman who had grown up at my side tormented and tantalized me. Were our close bonds caused by something beyond our long years of youthful friendship?

This was the state of my reflections as I descended from the deck in a manner that violated everything I knew regarding safety at sea. I started down the steps alone and in my irons, just as if I were on land – not bothering to descend backwards whilst securely gripping both rails. The _Pearl_ must have just reached the top of a swell, for she suddenly pitched forward and down sharply at the bow. I lost my footing as the steps lurched, and I reached in vain for anything to prevent a perilous fall. Behind me, an unlit iron lantern, having leapt off its hook, struck me square on the back of my head. I saw a bright flash of stars and toppled down the steps, banging my shoulder on the way, then losing consciousness as I slid down to the lower deck.

As my senses began to return, the clamour of many voices broke through the throbbing haze of pain in my head. When I opened my eyes, vertigo and nausea quickly forced me to shut them again. I was picked up from the foot of the stairs by many clumsy hands clutching and prodding me. There was excruciating pain in my left shoulder, as though my arm were being twisted and torn from my body. The intensity of it nearly made me faint, as the crew hoisted me up and carried me off to my cabin. I was unceremoniously dropped upon my bed, where I briefly passed out.

As I returned again to consciousness and the sounds of voices arguing, I briefly opened my eyes, only to feel the room spin sickeningly. I closed my eyes again and lay for several minutes trying to think what was to be done, but concentration eluded me. At last, in my disoriented and strangely groggy state, I heard a booming voice over the hubbub. "Back t' work, ye lice! Ye nearly let a valuable captive die – ain't that enough for ye damned cockroaches?" I struggled not to sink back into the blackness as I heard the cabin door slam shut. My distress made movement impossible, and my dislocated shoulder felt even worse than my throbbing head. I was aware of Barbossa leaning over me and touching me lightly as if to discover the extent of my injuries.

I must have been groaning all this time under my breath, for he proceeded carefully, muttering some reassurance. I could sense two moist, sticky tracks on my face where tears must have run from the outer corners of my eyes into my hair, and the back of my head felt warm and soaked wet with blood. The injury to my shoulder produced such agony that the thought of anyone touching it frightened me. "Shoulder..." I managed to get out between clenched teeth.

Barbossa touched my shoulder, to which I responded with a loud gasp and more groaning. "T'would have gone easier with ye if I'd done this sooner," he growled crossly. I was terrified that he would attempt to fix my arm and, in the process, put me in such torment that I would be unable to bear it; however, he went about his gruesome task with an assured manner that showed me he must have helped many a shipmate with this type of injury.

He gently removed my shirt, despite my gasps and cringing, maneuvering it over my dislocated shoulder and the bindings that covered my breasts. Then, wadding it into a ball, he stuffed it under my left arm, causing my shoulder to throb horribly each time he jabbed at the shirt to push it more tightly into my armpit. I was beginning to tremble and feel sick to my stomach from all of this, but I knew that what came next would be worse.

Grasping my arm with both of his hands, Barbossa began to pull it gently but steadily towards the foot of my bed, separating the dislocated joint. I gritted my teeth and strained against him, groaning, but he said, "Stop fightin' me, woman," and continued to pull, staring at the misshapen bump that was my shoulder. I took deep breaths and did my best not to resist. All at once, I felt my shoulder slide and pop with a searing jolt that made me cry out as my body jerked forward with a great spasm.

And then it was over. The pain diminished almost instantly, leaving my shoulder feeling very sore and tender. Barbossa took one look at my face and turned me on my side, holding me over the edge of my berth as I vomited on the floor. He held out a cup of grog, saying, "Just take a mouthful, swill it about, an' spit it back in the cup." I followed his orders, and he rolled me back onto the mattress, taking care that there was no weight on my arm. He checked that my shoulder had moved back to its proper place, then pulled the shirt out from under my arm as tears of relief ran down my face. He stroked my forehead for a moment, sighed wearily, then said, "Now I've t'look at yer head."

He gathered me up carefully, propping me against his chest, and I felt the contours of two sword hilts and three pistols about his body. Barbossa touched the back of my head lightly with his fingers, parting my hair and exploring the messy clots of blood to find the wound itself. My hair and back felt sticky, and my head pounded unmercifully, each small shift in my position causing a new wave of pain to race from the back of my head to the tip of my nose. I struggled, but he quieted me at once, saying "I know it frights ye t' be held. I mean ye no harm." I sighed and buried my face against him, surrendering to the aching and the dizziness, as I began to slide once more into the black void.

He lowered me back upon my blood-soaked pillow and sheets, but each time I drifted towards unconsciousness, he patted my face or hand to wake me. "Y' aint ready t' sleep yet," he said. "Not 'til I know ye can wake up again." And, so saying, he persisted in his efforts; whenever I appeared to sleep, he would ask a question or pat my face, bringing me back from the shadowy realm that lured me. After a very long time, he appeared satisfied that sleep would not harm me, and allowed me to lose myself in slumber.

I do not know how long I lay in a dreamless sleep, but finally, awareness began to filter through my mind once again. This time, I felt Barbossa lifting me off the bed, and I realised that my clothes had been exchanged (save for the linen that bound my breasts) for what I took to be a bed-sheet, wound about me like some ancient Greek dress.

Barbossa carried me a short distance, then slowly lowered me into a quantity of warm water. Noticing that I was awake, he whispered gruffly, "Don't ye be drownin' on me, little bird. Let's get ye cleaned and yer head tended to."

Still groggy and clumsy, I opened my eyes and tried to focus. I had lost track of time, and could not tell from the light if the hour was early morning or evening, but I realised that I was in Barbossa's quarters. He was holding me up in a tin tub of water, his tattooed arms bare to the elbows, and bloodstains on his shirt. I was immersed in an impossibly, miraculously luxurious bath, and it was warmed by an infusion of heated water that could only have been brought from the galley fire.

"Aren't you wasting drinking water? What if you run short?" I murmured. He gave a quick laugh. "As long as I don't commandeer the rum fer milady's bathwater, t'is of no consequence."

Something in his manner calmed my fears and I rested in his arms as he gently poured the water through my bloodied and matted hair. "Ye have pretty tresses," he said in a low voice. "I suppose ye know that." He touched my skin lightly, running his fingers along my shoulders and back, then put his lips to my ear. "Goes with the rest of ye," he whispered. At this, I felt a surge of delicious warmth in my veins that made me draw my breath in sharply.

"Did that hurt ye?" he inquired. "Just speak out if it does, an' I'll stop. Ye have no need t' fear me." And he continued to hold me, calmly brushing his hands across my skin and hair, supporting me in the bath.

When my head and hair had been washed of all blood, and the wound inspected and tended to his satisfaction, he laid clean, dry linens across the tub, and lifted me so that they covered me. "Ye'll have to stay bundled up," he told me. "There be no fires here to warm ye."

He steered my unsteady steps through a door to the berth in his sleeping quarters. Once I was settled into his bed, he asked, "D' ye want a bit o' laudanum, or some other nostrum?"

"No," I refused him at once. "No laudanum, please; don't make me. . ." I turned my head away.

"Easy, lass," he murmured. "I forgot ye've had all the opium yer likely t' stand fer." He put his hand lightly on my bandaged head. "Sleep here and don't go roamin'. I'll be on the settle in the day room, so ye'll have a sentinel." I acknowledged this with a faint smile, and he stepped to the door.

"Good-night, little bird," he said, turning back for a moment. "An' keep t' yer nest; I'm no saintly man."

I slept fitfully, waking upon occasion, but never for very long. I recall awakening once as Barbossa entered the cabin, helped prop me up in bed, and put a plate with food on my lap. Then I seemed to wake again, only an instant later, to find him holding the plate and studying me with a frown. "Not hungry, eh? It be two hours I left ye with this," he said. Getting no very lucid response from me, he helped me slide back down into bed, and I lost myself in sleep again before he even left the room.

At last, I awoke from a troubled, colourless dream to sunlight and the sounds of people talking and moving about in the captain's day room. It seemed almost like a homecoming, so glad was I to feel the familiar world around me.

As I glanced around Barbossa's sleeping quarters, I saw my clothes piled neatly on the railed shelf near his bed. I was still suffering from vertigo, but the nausea had gone, and the painful throbbing in my head had diminished to a dull ache that was at least bearable.

I rose with difficulty and dressed with shaking hands, then caught sight of my face in the rather large glass that was hung upon the wall. A wan little ghost with tangled hair stared back at me, so sickly that I was momentarily shocked. I pinched my cheeks and bit my lips fiercely, and once a bit of colour had appeared in my complexion, I ventured into the day room.

Barbossa was talking to Pintel and Ragetti and handing them the irons that had shackled me. He paused and turned as he heard me open the door, and remarked with some annoyance, "I'm takin' off the bracelets before ye do yerself another mischief. Ye be too blazin' stubborn by half t' be left clamberin' about the ship in irons, tumblin' down hatches and the like." He continued warning me in his loud voice, "Don't accustom yerself to it – I'll clap 'em back on, if ye discommode me in any way." Pintel and Ragetti smiled approvingly at this threat.

As the two crewmen made for the door, Barbossa waved his hand at a plate of savoury Solomongundy and a tankard of beer on the table. "Breakfast," he announced roughly.

"Thank you, Captain," I said, as Ragetti shut the door. I was now alone with Barbossa.

He studied me for a moment before speaking. "Well, ye look a bit more like yerself today," he finally observed in a more companionable tone. "Though t'is not t' say ye look in health. Ye had a bad fall, an' it could have been yer last."

"I know," I replied, trying desperately to conceal my embarrassment at the recollections of Barbossa holding me in the bath, holding me as I vomited, listening to me scream. "I caused my own misfortune through stupidity and inattention. I put you to such trouble. . . you were very kind."

As I spoke, I turned my eyes down to the floor, suddenly recalling what Tia Dalma had said, that love could prompt unselfish deeds from the hardest heart. I was silent for a moment, unsure of myself, and fearful of drawing certain conclusions from her words. Barbossa stood still, watching me.

"I do sincerely regret the blood on your shirt," I finally added stiffly, not knowing what I could say to him, yet conscious of a wild, unnamed longing in my breast which I struggled to suppress.

He dismissed this impatiently. "T'were naught but payin' me debt t' ye," he replied.

I looked at him blankly, and he added, "Fer bringin' me back in that boat, or whatever it were." He gave me a sharp, amused look, then added, "Ye really don't think I've learnt a trick or two from a life o' piratin' on the high seas? There be wounds worse than yers I've been left t' deal with."

_Then his kindness springs from a wish to repay me, nothing more,_ I thought with sinking heart. _Perhaps its better this way. _I put my hand on the back of the nearest chair, feeling suddenly unsteady.

"Ye need victuals," he said, gesturing at the table. "T'is two days since ye fell, an' ye ain't tasted a morsel in all that time. No wonder yer totterin'." He took my arm as I lurched towards a chair. I began to pick at the Solomongundy, and he watched me expectantly, as if waiting to make some announcement.

"I don't think I can manage the beer just now," I told him. He nodded. Then, to my surprise, he took his hand from his pocket, and dropped the pins from my hair upon the table.

"Ye know I won't give yer weapons back t' ye," he said, "Though it may be that we have more of a common purpose than ye think, as far as yer uncle is concerned. We'll let that matter tend itself for the present.

"Still, I'm not a hard man," he went on, drawing the Messenger badge, the books, and my locket from his waistcoat. "And ye were a pleasant enough companion t' me these past nights – before ye knocked yer crown on the stairs," he added hastily. "If these trinkets make ye happy, yer welcome to 'em." And with that, he laid them on the table, and drew the locket about my neck. I touched the little gold oval, feeling his fingers brush against the nape of my neck as he fastened the ribbon - very slowly I thought. I wished in vain for the courage to say something, but feared to show how much his actions moved me.

He touched my face, lightly laying his hand against my cheek for a moment. "An' don't think yer gettin' out o' bein' taught t' navigate, little bird, no matter how many stairs ye fall down," he said, in a gruff tone that was almost affectionate in its humour.

Then, before I could speak a word, he turned away, crossed the room - and was gone. But I sat alone at table for some time, touching the side of my face where his hand had rested.

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Next: Chapter 20 - Omnia Vincit Amor - In which Denial proves to be a poor shield against the arrows of Love.


	20. Omnia Vincit Amor

**DISCLAIMER: **I have no claim whatsoever to any of the brilliant POTC characters; I am grateful to be sitting at a banquet table set by truly talented storytellers.

**A/N - Rating Bump: **This chapter rated** "M" for brief adult content and vulgar language. **If you wish, you can count paragraphs, and skip 73, 74 and 75. **All other content is rated T. **

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**Omnia ****Vincit ****Amor **. . . *

Two weeks after my fall, Barbossa stood over me as I sat at his table and worked to adjust the fix I had taken with the quadrant. Having declared me to be in want of companionship, he had made a point of keeping company with me each day, showing a good humour and kindly sharing his knowledge. He had also kept his promise to teach me navigation; but on this particular afternoon I struggled with the unfamiliar corrections and calculations as he peered over my shoulder. Although he intended to offer help, his nearness distracted me and spoilt my concentration. Despite the earliness of the hour, he had also made a point of plying me with rum as my lesson progressed.

"How am I to do this exercise if I am inebriated?" I objected.

"Ye may as well learn t' do it," he replied, helping himself generously to the rum. "Pirates be suspicious of a cap'n who's always sober." I thought that they would certainly _not_ be suspicious of Barbossa in his current condition, although he managed to hold his liquor well. For myself, the sums before me were making less sense each moment. Exasperated by the figures and his insistence upon their intoxicating accompaniment, I pushed the papers away.

"I don't see that I actually need to learn this," I complained. "It isn't as though I have a ship of my own, or ever would." Barbossa reached across me and took up the paper I had been using.

"But ye might," he countered. "Someday ye might have a ship." I was very surprised; it seemed that Barbossa reckoned my capabilities more highly than I did. He studied my sums as he emptied his tankard, and then smiled approvingly. "Good work should earn ye a reward," he told me, and led me from the table to the settle, both of us walking with a slight stagger, due to the quantity of rum we had consumed.

He seated me at one end and himself at the other. Then he grasped my ankles and swung my legs up to the seat, as I protested. "I'm touchin' naught but yer feet," he said, laughing loudly. He pulled my boots off and began to massage the arches of my feet. Once I realised that he did not intend to press his advantage further, I began to enjoy his touch. I was reminded of my first night aboard, when he had searched my hair for pins; and once again, his steady hands and slow movements soothed and calmed me. As was often the case with Barbossa, however, his actions had more than one purpose; now that he had more or less pinioned me, he began to ask me questions.

"Have ye always worn boy's clothes?" he enquired in an offhand manner.

I smiled and shook my head. "Often, perhaps; but no, not always," I told him. "I was a venturesome child and boy's attire suited my activities: for example, I've been practising with that scimitar since I was ten," I said, pointing to my sword, which Barbossa still carried on his own belt. "But I have attended dancing parties and other occasions where I was properly dressed. When I became engaged, I little thought I would ever don clothes like these again."

"Dancin' parties, eh? Tell me about 'em," he encouraged, squeezing my feet gently and rubbing the muscles to stretch and relax them.

"Hm . . . well, there were Christmas parties, and a hunt ball one year, and a festive dance at Dock – that was when I met James Norrington, at the Assembly Rooms. I was so very nervous – I was almost sick," I laughed, remembering. "Four of us went with Father in the family coach. I wore a new gown, and there were dances with figures my dancing master never taught me – I was just fifteen, and terrified! I became fascinated with James because . . . well, he was quite the handsomest boy I had ever seen. And he guided me so kindly through it all; he prevented me from falling over my own feet and making a spectacle of myself. I thought marrying an admiral's son was the perfect, fairy-story ending for a little country mouse like me."

"Ah! So ye made prize of his heart, an' he proposed?" Barbossa asked, giving me a piercing stare, though he asked the question in a light manner.

"Not exactly; although he did eventually propose," I responded. "It was more a case of it all seeming . . . expected, somehow. Appropriate. I suppose his family saw the granddaughter of a viscount, with a large income, and my father saw a young man from good people, who made his silly daughter giddy with delight." I took the end of my pigtail in my hand and studied it. "We were too young," I admitted. "We didn't know each other, not really."

I paused, thinking how ridiculous it all seemed. "Jack never did warm to the idea," I added, "Although he tried to offer advice from time to time. He knew, better than I did, what a superficial fancy it was."

"An' how did ye know Sparrow in those days?" he asked, bending my feet to stretch my ankles. "Yer father didn't throw him off yer land? He came and went at will?" His tone was casual, but he seemed to be paying keen attention.

"My father and Jack's father were life-long friends," I answered, inwardly trying to calculate how I could best prolong the wonderful massage, for days if possible. "Jack and Captain Teague would visit, and Jack was rather like an older brother to me – we got into all sorts of scrapes and adventures. It was more of an idyllic little world than it sounds. But when it fell apart, I lost everything all at once; there was no slow decline. I went off to the Indies without a farthing, a family, or friends – other than Jack and his father."

"Ay, that's what I be tellin' ye; ye can't say what the future may hold." He rubbed my feet in silence for a moment, then began to tell me a bit about himself, with a hint of diffidence in his eyes. As he talked, he would occasionally shrug and tilt his head to one side, as if nothing he spoke of had any importance to him.

"Never thought I'd be sittin' here," he began, matter-of-factly. "Ye can see I weren't born to it; no grand house, nor parties, nor a family coach," he added, flashing a quick, cynical smile as he mentioned the coach, "Nor much at all. Born in one o' them pigsties near Dundry Hill, with a dirt floor an' half a dozen of us naked brats crawlin' about, an' all brought t' heel by the buckle-end of a strap." He stole a look at me, perhaps to see if I was shocked.

"I've long thought you a person of extraordinary ability," I told him, playing with the end of my pigtail and avoiding his eyes, lest he see the depth of my feelings for him and how his words made my heart swell with emotion. I think, had he been sitting any closer to me, I would have thrown my arms about him and tried to make up for the poverty and the beatings.

"Soon as I saw me chance, I left; I were twelve, but so scrawny and starved ye'd have taken me fer younger. I followed the sea, an' then took t' piratin' an' privateerin'," he shrugged, "One bein' much like t'other. None could best me with a sword; I taught meself t' talk like a gent, an' I thought I'd seen the last o' hardship." He gave a sardonic chuckle.

"Then came th' day I told ye of – when the dirty curs took me off me ship. I hadn't so much as seen th' inside of a gaol before." His hands rested, motionless, on my feet and his expression was stony; he was lost in the memory of that ill-starred day.

"Have y' ever paid heed t' the sound an iron door makes, slammin' shut?" he asked, gazing before him at some invisible memory. "I heard one after t' other, clangin' behind me, an' the noise of key after key, turnin', puttin' an end t' me liberty – an' me life, as I thought," he said, and his voice had an edge to it. "But Fortune smiled on me at last, an' I were the only man of 'em not hanged."

I silently blessed Rufus, whose dislike of the court and sympathy for the prisoners had led him to help Barbossa escape. "You've done well for yourself," I replied with earnest affection. "You're a man of remarkable boldness and accomplishments."

"Ay," Barbossa indicated our surroundings, "I'm master of the _Pearl_, master of me own fate, an' chasin' a fortune in gold." He smiled and his eyes glinted as he leaned toward me. "So ye might well have yer own ship one day; I'm livin' proof that ye can't predict what's t' come." He chuckled to himself. "Granddaughter t' a viscount, eh? A peer o' the realm? So y'd be Lady Bitter?"

"No, I wouldn't; and Hanibal will be the last Lord Bitter. The title becomes extinct with him," I replied. "If I want a title, I had better marry one. Otherwise, I am plain Mistress Bitter, and quite content with that, thank you."

Barbossa listened carefully and laughed under his breath at this last comment. "Still . . . granddaughter t' a viscount," he muttered to himself.

I returned his smile, looking down at my hands and delighting in the warmth of his friendship. Since I had come to know him and understand his past, I could no longer condemn his character, and we had become fast companions. I could not remotely contemplate abandoning him to King George's justice or any other ill fate; on the contrary, I would have thrown myself between Barbossa and danger, defending him at any cost, no matter how great. Still, I was determined not to give a name to the growing feelings his presence provoked in me, feelings which were becoming more difficult to control as each day passed.

The next evening when the sun had just set, I was standing on the quarterdeck as Barbossa steered the ship when he suddenly brought up a most unexpected question.

"Has yer friend Sparrow ever let ye steer the _Pearl_? Or have ye steered another ship o' this tonnage?" he asked me.

"No, never," I answered.

"_Never?_" he repeated, incredulous. I shook my head.

"Nina, Nina," he reproached me, lingering on the syllables of my name, "ye come from a maritime nation o' seafarin' people." He beckoned me to the wheel. Although I have always been fond of adventure, I felt an unaccustomed shyness at this great privilege; yet I knew it would never do to decline his offer.

I approached and he placed me directly in front of him at the wheel. I put my hand on the wheel's rim, but he immediately removed it. He continued to steer the ship, standing at my back with his arms reaching around me to the handles of the wheel.

"First, d' ye see the spoke with the turk's head knot?" he asked sternly. "Tell me its name."

"The king spoke," I replied, pointing to a spoke with a dirty bit of rope knotted about it.

"An' what does it tell ye?" Barbossa continued, making sure I knew enough to be trusted with the _Pearl_.

"The position of the tiller," I replied, keenly aware of his nearness.

He placed my hands on the wheel handles, and said, "D' ye see the star just over her bow? That's yer bearing. Keep her pointed right on that star."

I peered at the sky trying to identify which star he meant. He stood against my back, with his hands covering mine, guiding the ship. I tried to concentrate, but was distracted and weakened by an unexpected surge of desire for the tall, strong man standing against me. The top of my head just reached his chin, and I had a sudden, fierce longing to turn around and kiss him. I struggled against my feelings, focusing on the ship's direction. Finally I said, "I believe I have it now."

Slowly, he lifted his hands from mine, until I was indeed steering the _Pearl_ by myself.

Now my spirits rose, as I felt the power of the wind pushing the massive ship forward through the water, the resistance of the rudder to the wheel, and the gentle rolling of the deck, all answering to my hand. Nothing had prepared me for the intensity of this experience, and I was silent, transported with feelings of joy. Barbossa held me by my waist but took no further liberties, and we stood in this way as I steered the ship.

I steered her for perhaps half an hour, utterly exhilarated. Finally, he leaned close to my ear and, moving his hands about my waist so that he nearly embraced me, inquired, "Are ye gettin' weary?"

I nodded. He slid his hands slowly up my sides and along my arms as I tried to control my excited breathing, until, once again, his rough palms covered my hands. And once again, the sensation of his body pressing against my back provoked an overwhelming urge in me to turn around and clasp him passionately. He called the bo'sun to take the wheel, and thus relieved of duty, we proceeded to supper.

As we ate, we talked and jested as usual, and enjoyed our victuals. He had poured out rum for me tonight, instead of wine. As I gazed across the table at him, I became aware of how my heart would leap each time he smiled, so that I could not resist smiling in return. I realised that I no longer missed my old home, but then my spirits sank at the thought of how soon our journey would be over. I longed for any sign from him, however slight, that we might not part; that we might continue on as we were, or perhaps as more than we were.

My idle musings then led me to reflect on how easy and pleasant it would be to surrender to this man, and I had to turn my gaze away from his face as I entertained these thoughts. Even though I had defended my favours against his initial attack, I knew he was not the sort to be discouraged. An experienced campaigner, he would press on until a proper capitulation was proffered. But my desires had been provoked so far that I longed to know more of how he regarded me, and my answer was not long delayed.

At supper's end, Barbossa gave me a sharp, speculating glance and remarked, "We're no more'n a day out from Pencarren, and there be matters to settle between us." His face assumed the impassive expression I knew so well. "When we set out, ye begged me t' keep ye from Hanibal, an' t' destroy him if I could. Satisfy me curiosity on one point: if I refuse ye, how are ye plannin' t' overcome him? Ye must have struck an accord with Tia Dalma on the matter. Am I meant t' be part o' yer bargain?"

I knew the time had come for me to divulge as much as I could to him, even if it seemed foolish to trust in our friendship. "Tia Dalma merely said you had a part to play in this venture, nothing more; and it did seem possible to me that we had a similar purpose," I replied. "You must know by now that I won't rest until I defeat Hanibal and his blackguards – Curnow, and the rest of them – with or without your help. Perhaps your part is simply to take me to them."

I pressed my lips together before reluctantly disclosing more. "I wished for you to take me captive, to offer me to Hanibal. I knew the gold would draw you, and I hoped you would help me defeat him. And at that time, I wanted only to pay out my uncle for his villainy – I had no care at all for whether I lived or died."

"An' I suppose that went fer me as well," he observed, with a resigned laugh. "So ye brought me from Isla de Muerta, an' Tia Dalma promised ye me help in defeatin' Hanibal. I see King Swann ain't the only woman who's willin' t' act pleasin' so she can accomplish her own ends."

His words cut me deeply. "How can you wound me so?" I asked, very dismayed. "I have never sought to kill you to gain my own ends; even before we shared the voyage from Isla de Muerta, even when it was within my power." I jumped up from my chair and began to walk away from the table, feeling quite insulted, but anger made me turn back to continue with my protests.

"It's no great secret that I bore you ill-will in the beginning," I declared, with an impatient gesture. "What else would you expect? But then I came to know you, and everything changed, _everything_. Can you truly not see the place you occupy in my affections?"

Yet as I spoke, I despaired of making him understand the depth of my friendship and loyalty. "You must suppose me to have the most vicious heart ever created," I added with a heavy sigh.

He gazed at me searchingly, but replied, "Still, yer me captive, so ye ain't free t' speak."

Then he rose from his chair. "I know ye have little reason t' trust me, nor any man fer all that," he remarked, "Perhaps this may cast the matter in a different light." He placed my weapons on the table in front of me and began to pace slowly about the room with his long strides.

"Now ye have yer weapons again," he said, "An' yer free t' take yer own decision. So tell me: what do ye wish me t' do with ye?" He stopped walking and faced me with his arms crossed. His expression was guarded, but I did not hesitate to tell him the truth.

"I wish to take part, to fight by your side!" I answered, but he shook his head.

"I've come t' a decision," he said. "If what they say o' Pencarren be true, squarin' matters with Hanibal will likely cost yer life. As fer me, I aim t' have me revenge on the old devil, an' make what booty I can from his treasure, but I'm inclined t' keep ye out of it."

"But you mustn't!" I burst out, stepping towards him.

"T'would make no sense t' hand ye over," he replied. "There be no need fer ye t' face such danger, an' I'll not have it."

"You can't stop me!" I insisted wildly. "I won't stay out of it! Pencarren is dangerous nowadays, and the Judge's wealth will not be come at so easily as you suppose." I took a breath and attempted to reason with him. "Hanibal may have acquired something that makes it impossible to defeat him. I believe you will need my help. Afterwards . . . well, if it pleases you to send me away, I cannot prevent you," I added, hoping that my voice sounded less dejected than I felt.

Barbossa took his seat again, extending his hand to me. "Come, sit with me," he said. I took hold of his hand, and he brought me to sit upon his lap.

Putting his arm around me, he proceeded to refuse my request. "T'would be a remarkable occasion indeed," he said with a chuckle, "If I found meself needin' yer help. I'm offerin' t' keep ye safe, an' take on the risk meself. Why won't y' accept me offer? Why should I let ye join in?"

"Because you are not the only one whose life was laid waste by Hanibal," I reminded him, thinking, _And because I'd give my last breath to keep you safe_. "What of my father and my aunt? What of the fact that he still seeks my death? Why should I not square matters at the point of my own sword – matters that give me the greater claim?"

"That may be as is," he answered firmly, brooking no argument, "but when we reach Pencarren, I'll send ye ashore, an' yer free t' go where ye please, as long as ye stay away from Highcliffe."

I began to object again, but he hushed me, shifting me on his knee so that my head rested against his shoulder. "Quiet, m'girl. We'll have no more noise," he commanded in a low voice.

I was silent, and he continued as he stroked my hair. "I admit that when I first saw ye, I thought ye hot-headed and temperamental, the way ye offered t' fight a duel with me, an' the way ye chased them two cockroaches back t' their ship." He paused as though reflecting on those days. "But now I know what ye were put through back home." His hand rested on my hair and calmed me as he spoke.

"Ye were a brave 'un t' throw yerself out on the world an' get away from yer uncle," he continued. "Ye took yer fate into yer own hands an' asked no quarter. Many others would have broke entirely, or ended up in Limehouse, a-thievin' for their bread, or with a gin bottle at their side t' keep the horrors away. Fightin' the world be yer way t' survive."

He laughed dryly. "Fer all yer money, an' all me low estate, I know the way ye think, lass. There be less difference between us than ye suppose, when ye come down to it. But I'm disinclined t' let the Judge scar ye any more than he has . . . Nina." He kissed my hair and squeezed me in his arms, as though the matter had been settled.

I protested immediately, pushing back against his chest with my hands. "No! Why should I slink away like a coward with no honour? Besides," I argued, "how can you know for certain that you can manage this without me? Would it not be better for us to agree upon a mutual design?"

He shook his head and sighed in exasperation. Then he murmured, as if speaking to himself, "How is it that we two are so stubborn, and yet so much in . . ."

_So stubborn, and yet so much in love?_ I wondered in amazement. _Was that what he almost said? _Then he turned his face towards mine: suddenly I was staring into those sharp, intelligent blue eyes at close range, and they were filled with candour and affection that overwhelmed me. My heart gave a great leap and, in an instant, all my defences were swept away. In a flash, I understood why I had always resisted meeting his gaze. It wasn't the question in his eyes that I feared, it was that my answer to it would be nothing less than sweet, limitless surrender. I thought surely he must hear my pulse pounding, so agitated were my feelings.

He leaned slowly closer; my eyes closed and my lips relaxed, as he tenderly kissed me with that generous mouth that I had always yearned to feel. The soft fullness of his lips and the wiry rasp of his whiskers imparted a light, lingering sensation upon my skin that sent little waves of fire through my body, out to the very ends of my fingers, as I instinctively caressed the back of his head, working my fingertips under his pigtail and massaging his neck and scalp. I found myself panting unevenly each time I exhaled, and I hid my flushed face upon his shoulder. Although I was shaking slightly, I knew that my old feelings of alarm came from my ordeal at Highcliffe, and not from the man embracing me now.

I traced his face with my fingers, running them lightly over his eyebrows and cheeks as though I were touching priceless porcelain, and then placing my finger upon the centre of his lower lip. "You are so . . . gentle with me," I murmured in his ear.

"As are you with me," he replied. Then, taking note of my unsteadiness, he began to touch and stroke my hair, adding softly, "I won't let anything ill befall ye."

He kissed my mouth again. This time I pressed against him, feeling heat and desire coursing through me, and knowing he felt it too. He continued giving me soft, slow, drawn out kisses, letting my passions build as he held me close, making sure of my eager assent. He loosened my braid and thrust his hands through my hair, twining my locks about his fingers. Gradually, his kisses grew more forceful, and I could feel his teeth and tongue as he began to push my lips apart. A small sound between a sigh and a whimper escaped my throat, and he stopped for a moment. We stared at each other, breathing heavily.

Then, at the same instant, we smiled.

He clasped me tightly and gave me deeper kisses, which I returned ardently, tasting the rum on his breath, and enjoying the sensation of his lips against mine as his tongue explored my mouth. I kissed his face, the beautiful scar upon his cheek, his beard and his neck, always returning to his firm, warm lips.

He reached under my boy's shirt, and it was but a moment's work for him to loosen the light binding I wore and take my naked breasts in his hands. "Soft, warm titties," he murmured approvingly, his voice sounding like the deep purring of a lion. He lowered his face to lay siege to this new field of battle, bestowing such strong, sweet kisses that my body longed to surrender utterly, and I moaned softly as I held him close.

As this exquisite torture continued, I thought I would perish with desire for him, and I felt him growing hard beneath me when I shifted my weight upon his lap. This sensation enflamed my emotions still more, so that I reached down and touched that swelling mound. He caught his breath in a soft gasp that was almost a laugh, surprised and delighted at my boldness. I wondered what it would be like to lie with a man like this, who aroused such warmth and tenderness in me, instead of being taken against my will by the vile curs to which my uncle had fed me.

Now, with my passions so keenly incited, I might have willingly surrendered many more favours to Barbossa, even the last favour, but the middle watch had begun, and we were interrupted by a deal of loud knocking on the door, and a flurry of insistent, shouted pleas that he was urgently needed on deck to quell some dispute. I stood up, hastily putting my clothes in order, and then he rose to his feet and caught me in a tight embrace. He released me very reluctantly, giving me a quick, rough kiss before we parted.

Later, in my cabin, I fell to ruminating upon our situation. I no longer cared whether this was, as Imaginary Jack had said, a game to Barbossa. For me at least, this was no mere friendship, and the hour had come when I must cease lying to myself. The spancel had been useless to me for some time; sacrificing his trust by any such betrayal was out of the question. I was determined to do everything in my power to help him, and I vowed to plead for him to the King with all my heart. He had returned my weapons and wished to protect me from my uncle, all those unselfish acts that Tia Dalma said would show love at work in his heart. I acknowledged at last what my own ingenious heart had long ago discovered: I had fallen in love with Barbossa, and for good or ill, there would be no turning back.

As I closed my eyes that night, I felt the summer sun on my face, and I was standing at the water's edge near Pencarren, with Jack by my side. We were looking for something amongst the rocks; at last I saw it – the end of a rope, which I pointed out to Jack. Stealthily, he began to pull it until, one by one, hidden bottles of rum emerged from the water; they had been laid down and tied at intervals along the rope so that later they could be easily "creeped up", as the smugglers call it. We sat down and passed a bottle back and forth as we looked out over the water.

"I love dreams where there's rum," Jack remarked.

"I remember this day," I told him. "I had just attained my sixteenth birthday. This was-"

"The day you told me you were marryin' James Norrington," he finished my sentence.

"And you replied that your ambition was to find a wife," I chided him. "As if Captain Jack Sparrow could be made prize of by any woman. It seems so long ago."

He smiled. "Lots of salty wenches and willin' ladies since then, darlin' – no wives need apply! But you must want to tell me something else now – that's why you're dreamin' about us being here. Not that I don't see it, even without you sayin' a word," he added, taking a swig of rum. "Well, I only have meself to blame, don'I? I let him on me ship, and the next thing I know he's after me girl, the old robber."

He threw an arm about my shoulders. "Ah, mousie, what's he done to you?" he said.

"He was good to me - tender and protective," I answered. "He let me see his heart instead of the face he shows the world, and it made me fall in love with him."

Jack laughed softly under his breath. "The bastard," he remarked, giving me a squeeze.

I took the bottle from him, and our hands touched. "There were times when I wondered if I were destined for you, Jack, but our bond is utterly different than what I feel for him. We will always be like siblings. Perhaps," I ventured, "Like cousins?"

He shook his head and grinned, very amused. "No, not cousins, darlin' – Marianne wasn't me mum, savvy?" Then he chucked me affectionately under the chin.

"Well, he'd better look after you right and proper, love," he cautioned me. "Imagine it – me special girl an' me hated adversary might be feelin' 'stirrings' for each other! Tell me the cosmos don't have a wicked sense of humour!"

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

* _Omnia Vincit Amor . . . :_ Love conquers all. From Virgil, _Eclogues_, X. 69.

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Next week: Chapter 21 -Et Nos Cedamus Amori** - **In which an enigmatic discussion precedes a very special evening, and the _Pearl_ reaches Pencarren at last.


	21. Et Nos Cedamus Amori

**DISCLAIMER: **I have no claim whatsoever to any of the brilliant POTC characters; I am grateful to be sitting at a banquet table set by truly talented storytellers.

**A/N - Rating Bump: **This chapter rated** "M" for adult content. **If you wish, you can count paragraphs, and skip 30 through 42. **All other content is rated T. **

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**. . . Et Nos Cedamus Amori ***

Despite the sweetness of our first happy dalliance, it was not until the middle of the following day that I sat with Barbossa once more. We kept an awkward silence at table, until Pintel and Ragetti had finished setting out the victuals, for it was always Barbossa's habit to show me no favour in the presence of any of his crew. The two deckhands took some time to arrange the table, until at last Barbossa became impatient and, with the salty epithets and rough voice of an old mariner, exhorted them to depart.

I ate most of my meal without speaking, trying to keep my emotions in check. I kept my eyes on my plate, although I was aware that Barbossa was watching me with an amused stare. At last he remarked off-handedly, "I intended no offense comparin' ye t' King Swann, t' other day. As it happens, she had hard choices t' make. I asked her t' show a bit o' leniency towards ye."

"Did she write to me at your behest?" I asked, realising that he, not Jack, must be the "friend" Miss Swann had mentioned in her letter. I recalled the phrase, "spoke of you highly and with affection", and found myself gazing at him very lovingly.

"Ay, she did," he replied, finishing his plate and reaching for one of his beloved green apples. "There still be time, Nina – let me put ye ashore," he urged. I watched him bite into the fruit as I considered his offer anew.

My wilful resistance had abated since the previous night, for it had occurred to me that I needed to go ashore unaccompanied in order to petition King George for assistance. Taking Barbossa up on his offer would provide the least suspicious occasion for slipping away to Plymouth. I nodded a reluctant agreement, which seemed to please him.

"Take me ashore at Pencarren, then," I told him, "Tomorrow, after dark. Leave me at the quay that the fishing boats use. I give you my word I shall depart the town immediately." I smiled and extended my hand. "Do we have an accord?"

He narrowed his eyes and looked at me rather sceptically, but could not find an objection. "Ay, we have an accord," he replied slowly, shaking my hand and adding, "See that ye keep to it. Yer t' leave Pencarren, soon as ye set foot ashore. Understood?"

"Upon my honour, Captain," I promised, pleased to have settled matters so easily. "I shall show my heels to Pencarren at once." I calculated that I would just have time to ride to Plymouth and back before the sun rose.

He smiled at my respectful acquiescence, and remarked, "Don't fret yerself. Ye can leave the old devil t' me, lass. Go an' keep yerself safe, somewhere far away."

We finished our meal, and rose from the table. I was silent and preoccupied, working out what I would say to the King, but my demeanour must have seemed troubled, for all at once I felt Barbossa's hand on the back of my head, caressing my hair.

"Ye haven't seen the last o' me," he assured me. "Ye have me word that we'll meet again when t'is all concluded."

I did not believe this for one moment. _A pleasing lie_, I thought, _told to placate me and ensure that I depart without a fuss_; and I felt quite low. Imaginary Jack's words sounded in my ears, reminding me that I was likely a mere diversion for Barbossa, a way to pass the time on a long voyage. If my former fiancé had been so quick to desert me, what could I expect from Barbossa? I had no doubt that when matters were settled, I would be once more cast upon the world alone. Everything that I desired would have been accomplished, except that my heart would never be free again.

We reached Cornwall that very evening, and lay by off the coast, waiting for favourable winds. I hoped the _Troubadour_ was not far behind us, but there was no sign of her, though I roamed the deck like a mournful apparition, wringing my hands and trying to catch a glimpse of her masts.

At supper, Barbossa remarked that a squall was building and perhaps we would see some stormy conditions through the watches of the night. I could hear rumblings of distant thunder throughout our meal, during which we had a most significant conversation.

Barbossa's musings had turned to the future, and he asked, "What will ye do once Hanibal is defeated? Will ye set out t' find yerself a rich husband? With a title, perhaps? That seems to be what most ladies pitch upon."

I shook my head. "I don't reckon riches or titles the way most ladies do. I have never valued them – neither when I possessed them, nor when I lost them. And how would riches or titles show me a man's character? I have learnt the difference between how I might wish a man to be, and how Nature truly shapes him," I said, remembering James.

I sighed. "No, my first action after my uncle is defeated must be to free myself from . . ." I intended to say "Mawgan Curnow", but could not bring myself to speak the name. Barbossa perceived my difficulty and nodded.

"As for me," he remarked, "I've sometimes thought of takin' a wife. I always wanted to marry of a fine lady, yet I never found the woman after me own heart."

I stole a quick look at him, but he seemed lost in thought. I began to contemplate the disappointment that would overwhelm me if he were to marry; yet I knew I had no right to claim his affections.

"I've gratified m' lusts with many," he said. "But what I was searchin' for was paradoxical, y' might say: a lady not wantin' in bravery or darin', one who is pretty an' insinuatin' in her carriage, but reserves her favours fer me. Loyal an' true, so I might esteem her friendship, yet with spirit an' beauty that stir me passions in an instant." He drank from his tankard, not looking at me.

"Oh, well," he went on dismissively, "I don't traffic in dreams. What could I offer such a one? Marriage with a pirate? A life on the seas with an old scallywag, who'll likely finish his days either cut down a-fightin' or at the end of a rope?" He took another swig, and I saw him glance quickly at me out of the corner of his eye. "And what if I did find her," he continued, "An' she weren't free t' give her hand?"

At this, my heart rallied, and I dared hope that he spoke of me. I ached to tell him plainly that nothing would part me from him, but I didn't wish to misread his purpose. I hid my hands in my lap for fear he would see them shaking. "It seems to me," I replied, "that the lady you describe must be bold enough to plight herself to you out of love, and not to cavil at legal ties. By inclination and conscience, it would be as good as a marriage." I took a deep breath and twisted my hands together under the table. "I know that I would regard such a union in that light."

He nodded, and gave me another sidelong glance. "And seein' we're become such good companions," he said, "perhaps yer inclined t' share yer own fancies with me? Ye can speak openly."

I took a drink of rum to steady my nervousness.

"I know what sort of man I seek," I said, trying to choose my words carefully, "One of skill and boldness in battle, lacking neither daring nor intellect, and, since I have no fortune, happy solely to possess me. Yet I ask myself the same question as you: supposing I had found such a gallant, what could I offer him? I am not only penniless, but made for adventure – not a pretty cage. If I would not be subdued by my husband, what sort of man would accept me as his wife?"

"A man that loved ye," answered Barbossa, as though it should be obvious. "And understood that ye can't love someone, yet take their freedom from them." Then he added, "T'is somethin' ye and I understand."

With a sudden movement that startled me, he took my hand in his. "If I had such a one as you t' my portion, I'd have nothin' t' do but t' rejoice in her," he said, kissing my palm near my wrist. I felt a thrill of pleasure from the touch of his lips and beard. "If we both be counted amongst the livin' in the days ahead," he added, "There be a matter I'd put t' ye, but I'll not take it up in the midst o' this enterprise."

As our supper ended, I grew quieter, although my thoughts were in turmoil. I fervently hoped Hanibal would not prevail against us. If he did, this evening's conversation would be the last hint of Barbossa's intentions that I would ever know, and that thought was unbearable to me.

Barbossa seemed to watch me, perhaps trying to read my reaction to our guarded declarations. At length, he rose from his chair, and walked with me to the door of his quarters, to see me on my way back to my cabin.

At that moment, the thunderstorm suddenly broke over the ship. A tremendous cracking and sizzling noise came from the sky with a brilliant flash of lightning, followed by the noise of torrential rain. My eyes met Barbossa's warm, blue-eyed gaze, and for a moment we stood absolutely still, holding our breath. In an instant, some spark of unspoken understanding passed between us. He seized me with all his strength and kissed me ferociously. Then we turned as one and rushed to his bed, pulling off our clothing as we went. I cast my clothes aside quickly, and helped him out of his attire. My impatient hands helped him pull and unfasten his garments, as I worked my fingers under his clothes, touching his bare skin for the first time. His fierce desire made my own burn even brighter, and at last we knelt upon the bed, panting as we embraced.

Barbossa held me tightly against his body and, twining my hair about his fingers, spoke to me in the gentle voice of a lover. "Yer with Hector now," he murmured. "Forget all what happened t' ye before. I want ye t' enjoy this with me."

Such a thrill of desire went through me that I thought my legs would give way, as he pressed his naked hardness against my belly. "I want this with all my heart . . ." I said, thinking, _don't you see how I feel, Hector? You're the only one in the world for me._

He changed position so that our gazes met, and gave me a ravenous, searching look, as if he wanted to speak, but something prevented him. Then my mouth sought his, and I used my teeth to gently tug upon his warm, sensual lower lip which I found so handsome and irresistible.

"Ye needn't do anything ye don't want, and I'll do whatever ye ask," he promised, drawing his hand across my rump and down the back of my thigh. I nodded, my heart longing for this union with him.

"Now, make me yours," I begged him, "No more waiting, Hector . . ."

He eased me down onto my back and kissed me, first softly, then with the passionate savagery of an animal. Holding my face with his rough-skinned hands, he thrust his strong tongue past my lips and teeth. I felt the roughness of his beard and moustache and the warmth of his breath as he probed my mouth and pressed his lips against mine as if he would devour me. Small shivers of joy began to suffuse my body.

"B' gad, yer a beauty," he growled hungrily as he ran his hands over my skin. This ignited a ferocious desire in me, unlike anything I had ever known. The very palms of my hands ached to seek the delights of his body, and I began to caress each mark and scar upon his skin and try to kiss and bite him everywhere I touched. In return, his every teasing stroke sent a wave of fire through me. I felt as if my skin would melt with the heat of my ecstasy, but Barbossa had only begun to take his pleasure.

He guided me to each intimate place on his person and taught me every stratagem to gratify him in the most intense way. He sought and opened the hidden realms of my body whence Venus ruled, and gave me the most extravagant kisses and caresses, increasing my pleasure a hundredfold. He teased and toyed with me, using the pointed tip of his strong tongue, until I groaned aloud with the urge to feel him within me. The noise of the storm kept my moans and screams from being heard by anyone except my lover, as he shared these amorous joys with me. Each time I struggled or cried out, he would pause and watch me, running his hands over me, wanting to bring my passions to a higher pitch before possessing me. Finally, he gave me the pleasure I had craved and, with a powerful shove, drove himself deep within me, sending an overwhelming thrill through my body as he began to rock me with his forceful thrusts. As I lay before him, he took hold of my hair, gently tugging my head back. The muscles in my back grew taut with desire, and my body curved backward, as though it were a bow whose string had been drawn by the skilled hand of the archer.

At length, I fell into a state of such passion that I thought I would die from the quivering and shuddering that ran through me as I gasped for air – the beginning of what they call _'la petite mort'_. Seeing this, my adored Hector whispered to me, "We'll do this together," and he did exactly that – he took me with him so that we both reached the moment of supreme love at the same time.

At the last, I begged him to remain exactly where he was, as I savoured the last tremors and spasms of our spent passion. He did as I asked, and he let me understand that there would be more occasions of lovemaking before the night was through. The motion of the _Pearl_ rocked us to sleep for awhile, all to the sound of the rain and the steady growling of thunder, until he awakened me with urgent kisses. "Come and please yer man again," he murmured hoarsely, as he pushed me gently down his body. I entwined myself about his limbs, and heard him groan with lust when I took him into my mouth. We reached for each other again and again throughout that night, in the most intimate of embraces, rejoicing in the perfect fit of our bodies.

Towards morning, I awoke in his arms as he slumbered, his weight pinning me so tightly that I could scarce move. I had the sensation of being protected between the deadly paws of a huge, dangerous lion, one that had sheathed its claws in order to take me to its heart. I watched him as he slept, remembering Isla de Muerta. I had cried uncomprehending tears on that night when I bound the spancel about his body, and had caressed his face incessantly on our journey back. Now I realised that I had loved him instinctively even then, but had been unwilling to listen to my own heart prompting me.

In a gentler humour now, I drew my hand along his skin, tracing the contours of his shape, which were dimly visible in the misty grey light of that soft, rainy dawn. The changing light of the rain as it rippled down the window panes also seemed to caress him, as its reflection glimmered across his skin. I touched his flanks and his thighs, and twined my fingers through the dark thatch of curling, coppery hair near his manhood. He seemed to me as large as a stallion and twice as strong, and his lustful appetite was matched by his endurance and his obvious skill at pleasuring women. I knew that I could trust myself entirely to him, and that I would do anything he asked of me.

My caresses awakened him and we made love again, slowly and languorously, to the sound of the rain running off through the ship's scuppers like a waterfall. We had spoken scarcely a word between us all this time, nor was it necessary. Afterwards, we lay together in perfect tranquillity. Motionless, save for the beating of my heart, I felt as though I were floating in his arms, weightless and almost disembodied. At that moment, I cared not what happened to my uncle, Cornwall, or the world. I gave myself up completely to loving Hector Barbossa.

Later that morning, before we rose from his bed, we had a close and tender conversation. He asked me if I regretted the events of the previous night, but I told him how willingly I reconciled myself to my situation, even if he wished to leave me.

"I have no regrets," I replied, "You gave me something very beautiful, something I shall never forget." I pressed myself against him, wrapping my arms about his neck. "You make me . . . _shiver_," I whispered, feeling suddenly quite shy with him. "Even if I could lie with you all the day long, it wouldn't suffice. I can't quite seem to get enough of you."

"Twasn't planned," he said, caressing my face. "but ye should know that many's the night I've wanted ye t' lie with me."

"I would rather be undone by you in one night and abandoned, than promised to the highest lord in the land," I told him, between kisses.

He smiled at this. "I might be summat of a knave, sweetheart, but I have no intention of undoin' ye," he protested. "We'll speak on the matter again, but only when our venture be finished." Looking into my eyes, he perceived an air of uncertainty, and asked me to tell him my thoughts.

"I have never felt this way about anyone," I confessed in a quiet voice. "I imagine you must think me very backward, since you have such great experience of the world."

"I don't think ye backward; I think ye belong t' me," he growled. "An' ye'd best settle in, woman, fer I've no mind t' turn ye loose."

Late that evening, I made ready to venture ashore, pretending to follow Barbossa's instructions, but secretly preparing to make for Plymouth, secure assistance, and return to the _Pearl_. Having packed my belongings, I sat in my cabin, attempting to pen a letter to Barbossa that would explain my true purpose. Though I was pressed for time, I was hindered by the turmoil of my feelings. Instead of putting quill to foolscap, I sat dreaming, musing on how handsome and good-humoured I found him, and calling to mind each and every pleasure we had enjoyed in his bed. My passions inclined to him so strongly that it was no wonder to me how easily I could be conquered.

I let my thoughts drift back over the span of our voyage, re-living each memory. Looking back, it now seemed to me that the pleasures of the previous night had been foretold all along, in the sumptuous suppers he had offered me, and the way in which he had befriended and persuaded me. He had been changing me throughout our journey; and during that storm, it was as though he had somehow broken me at last, and remade me into a different creature, with hungers and longings I had not known I possessed; although, in retrospect it seemed that I must have always been starving for his touch. With an effort, I collected my thoughts and wrote my first sentence:

_Although I know you wish to keep me safe, I am undertaking an urgent errand that will help us against my uncle._

Then I glanced at the line above it and saw that I had written "_My dearest Hector,_" in a sort of day-dream. Blushing at my impropriety, I added "_Barbossa_" to my salutation, although the writing and punctuation instantly convicted that word of being an afterthought. At last, I abandoned all pretence at dignity, and decided to write plainly to him, thinking it might well be my last and only chance to speak to him from my heart:

_Now that we are intimate friends and I have been possessed by you, I make bold to declare that your affections have won my total surrender, and overthrown all my defences. Knowing you will safeguard it, I leave you the uncanny spancel as a token of my trust in you, my dear, and of my deepest love. It shall never again be used by my hand to restrain you, the finest gentleman I know and the dearest to my heart. I swear to you on my honour that I shall return by tomorrow night to take my place once more at your side. I shall never desert you. You are the man who reigns over my heart, now and always._

_Yr __most affectionate and devoted friend,_

_Nina_

_ PS_

_ Kindly destroy this letter._

I folded the letter, enclosing the spancel, and sealed it, pressing the back of my locket into the wax. Then, taking the letter and the sack with my belongings, I ascended the stairs to the deck. When I emerged, I noticed a thick blanket of fog creeping towards where we lay anchored. And strangely, this fog, instead of approaching Pencarren from the sea in typical fashion, was moving from the land out towards the waters. Puzzled by the curious sight, I hurried to the tender, where Barbossa waited with Pintel and Ragetti. I hoped I could get ashore before the harbour was completely fogbound.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

* _Et Omnia Vincit:_ "and we must all yield to Love." From Virgil, _Eclogues_, X.69. (The complete quotation forms the titles of Chapters 20 and 21: "Love conquers all; and we must all yield to Love.")

* * *

Next week: Chapter 22 - The King's Messenger - In which Nina makes a pledge to King George.


	22. The King's Messenger

******DISCLAIMER: **I have no claim whatsoever to any of the brilliant POTC characters; I am grateful to be sitting at a banquet table set by truly talented storytellers.

* * *

**The King's Messenger**

Barbossa spoke not a word to Pintel and Ragetti, but nodded sharply at the longboat. To me, he remarked, "Ye can get ashore unseen in this fog, but mind not t' lose yer way; I don't like the look of it."

"I could walk Pencarren blind-folded," I assured him, wanting but not daring to offer him a farewell embrace.

As the men lowered the boat to the waterline, I threw my sack aboard, and handed my letter to Barbossa, who, although caught off-guard, accepted it. I climbed down the ladder into the longboat, and Pintel and Ragetti rowed me to shore. Although I had spoken confidently to Barbossa, I was greatly relieved when at last I could make out the shadowy angles of the quays emerging from the thick fog. As Pintel and Ragetti drew the boat up on the shingle, I made a request that surprised them.

"You must promise to meet me here tomorrow, just after sunset, and take me back to the _Pearl_," I told them.

"Take you back to the _Pearl_?" said Pintel. "Is that part of the plan?"

"Right, wot part of the plan is that?" echoed Ragetti.

"It IS part of the plan! _Promise me_!" I insisted, raising my voice, which made both pirates look about nervously to discover whether there was anyone lurking within earshot.

Ragetti was not convinced. Ignoring me, he turned to Pintel and said,"P'raps we should ask Cap'n Barbossa."

We were losing precious time whilst their dithering continued, and now my temper snapped. "Devil take the both of you!" I swore through my teeth. "Captain Barbossa will have your guts for garters and I'll stitch them with my own hand, if you don't give me your word right this minute!"

Both men looked alarmed, but nodded agreement. They were becoming increasingly uneasy, for the _Pearl_ had quite disappeared into the rolling fog bank. "Don't fail me!" I warned them with a scowl.

I turned and ran up the shingle to the post house without a backward glance. Slipping down the row of tethered horses, I chose a fell pony, cut the post bags off of him, and, untethering him, leapt into the saddle. I departed town at a noisy gallop over the granite cobblestones, leaving the fog behind for the pitch-darkness of the turnpike road, with the scattered shouts and distant alarums of a few townspeople ringing in my ears.

Riding east towards Plymouth, I imagined I heard the word "Bodmin" over and over in the rhythmic clopping of my pony's hooves. I was uneasy, almost spellbound, knowing that in the blackness stretching away to the northeast lay the desolate moor where my father had met his end, in a design brought about by his own brother. Farther to the east, and heavy on my heart, lay Launceston, where Barbossa had faced the double perils of hanging and gaol fever, and Rufus had reluctantly buried the last mortal remains of Marianne Bitter. I rejoiced when at last I spied the lights of Plymouth, and could leave the haunted countryside behind me.

I pulled up my exhausted pony, took out the King's Messenger badge, and hung it about my neck. As I approached the building where the King was staying, I garnered many strange looks from his soldiers, but when they spied the silver greyhound pendant on its blue ribbon, they let me pass unimpeded.

I gave my name and that of my father to the page. He told me to wait, and departed, to announce me to King George.

As I waited, I rehearsed again the arguments in favour of my proposals. From some distant chamber, I heard an angry voice, and recollected my father remarking that King George was a man with a famously sharp temper. _And I've disturbed his rest,_ I thought, nervously.

After an interval, a Groom of the Bedchamber appeared, and led me to the King's closet, where a pleasant-looking lady was seated. I realised that she must be Amalie von Wallmoden, Duchess of Yarmouth and the King's infamous mistress. The King was not present, but I noticed some slight movement of an arras hanging to my right. The lady welcomed me in excellent, German-accented English, and inquired my name and business. I had no sooner pronounced my father's name than the arras was drawn back, and King George stood before me, as I hastily dropped into a deep curtsey, despite my boy's attire. "Your Majesty," I said.

He indicated that I should rise, and picked up a candelabrum, which he brought close to my face. He scrutinized my features, then turned back to the Duchess. They quickly exchanged remarks in German, of which I was able to catch the word for "mother", and another word, "Ahlden". The Duchess now regarded me with increased interest.

The King took a seat and studied me with keen curiosity. "I am informed that you are the daughter of Captain Harry Bitter, and I can plainly see from your aspect that this is so." He paused, scowling. "Your father was the only man in England who proved he knew the loyalty and duty he owed his sovereign, unlike the other king-killers and republican dogs that populate this country."

As I struggled to apprehend how I should take this broadside against my countrymen, he startled me by suddenly holding out his hand in a manner that clearly indicated his purpose: I was being commanded to surrender the Messenger badge.

I stood frozen for an instant, and he beckoned irritably with his fingers, curling them in a gesture of impatience. I removed the badge and placed it in his hand. He turned it over and glanced at my father's initials on the reverse. Then he came straight to the matter at hand. "And so tell me, what brings you to me dressed like Peter the Wild Boy," he indicated my boy's clothing with distaste, "and at an hour when sensible young women should be asleep in their own beds?"

Disconcerted at losing the badge and startled by his reaction to my appearance, I steadied my resolve and began to present my petition. "Sire, I shall be plain and to-the-point," I said. "There is an opportunity this very day to rid yourself of a treacherous villain and gain a good amount of riches in the process." At the mention of riches, his eyes glinted. Clearly his famed parsimony was not merely a rumour.

I reminded him of the situation in Pencarren, where the Judge was wrecking and plundering royal ships of the line amongst others and depriving the Crown of revenues. I added that this miscreant had also conspired in the murders of my aunt and father. Would the King be willing to order a ship to render assistance at Pencarren, since two ships that could be termed privateers were preparing to attack Hanibal and free the town? It would mean the removal of a threat that had cost the Royal Navy time and again, I said, and that cost could be redressed by confiscating Hanibal's massive treasure.

And then I made my own offer: if he would, by an Act of Grace, pardon the privateers Teague, Sparrow, Barbossa, and their crews of any and all offenses charged against them in the past, I would also gladly surrender to the Crown any property or income upon which I had a claim, which was not insignificant.

King George considered this with a sly smile. "I had been informed that your father took pains with your education, and I see that he did not neglect to imbue you with courage, common sense, and the ability to drive a tempting bargain. I admire practical virtues, and I may even be inclined to grant your request. However, I make one further condition – do not assent until you have heard it," he added, as I began to do so.

"They say my ministers control the foreign policies of this country," he began, "and that I am a mere cipher, a stupid blockhead. Yet, I have occasional enterprises of which my ministers know nothing. I have frequently thought that it would be most convenient if I had a truly loyal King's Messenger, in the manner of the first men to hold that office. Yet all the Messengers are now appointed by my Secretary of State, rather than myself." He paused, deliberating, and stared down at my father's badge in his hand.

"It seems fortuitous that the daughter of my most trusted Messenger should present herself at this very time, does it not? It is also fortuitous that _pirates_ – for I perceive that is what you mean by 'privateers' – always seem to return to their trade, despite the Acts and Certificates by which they ceaselessly claim pardons," he declared, looking at me very shrewdly.

The flush of embarrassment on my face was visible even in candlelight.

King George nodded, "Aha - then it is as I perceive! So we may assume that, should I grant your petitions tonight, you will most assuredly return to trouble me for more pardons in the future, in order to keep your friends safe."

This observation made me very anxious. I feared that he was preparing to decline to act, and I had no notion what to do if we could not obtain his assistance. He had not asked me to respond, and I was afraid that any act or word of mine might send him into a temper and wreck the prospect of gaining his support.

"Now," he continued, satisfied at having redefined the matter in terms more to his liking, "If you are willing to undertake a job that is extremely hard and fatiguing, with a high degree of adventure and uncertainty, and no promotion through merit or interest, we may come to an interesting agreement."

I listened closely, feeling desperate and ready to grasp at any counter-offer, however onerous, as long as I could bring help to my friends and to Pencarren.

"As you may know," he explained, "King's Messengers are immune from arrest, exempt from every species of visitation and search, and their commissions are sacred. They are also frequently in the greatest danger."

The thought of my father's dangerous adventures caused me to smile slightly in spite of my nervousness, which King George noticed with an approving look.

"From time to time," he said, "my secret enterprises go far beyond the delivery of crossed dispatches. On those occasions, I have need of someone whose name is not on the duty list, and on whom I may utterly rely; a King's Messenger appointed by, and answerable to, myself alone." He paused. "Of course, such a Messenger would be assured that any pardons she requested for friends would be issued forthwith," he added, and again regarded me with that sharp stare.

Then, crossing his arms, he asked, "What say you to that, Nina Bitter?"

And so there was my choice: to serve King George as a kind of extraordinary King's Messenger and receive the help I needed for my friends, or to decline the offer, receive no assistance, and risk almost certain death for myself, Jack, Barbossa and Captain Teague. Only one response was possible, and the King was waiting to hear my reply.

"I have no doubt that a Messenger's work is hard, but that does not discourage me," I answered. "Indeed, it would be a mark of favour which I should be proud and grateful to receive, and would always endeavour to deserve. You mentioned the training I received from my father, who was Captain of a regiment; it would be an honour to put those skills to use in your Majesty's service." _And in any event,_ I thought, remembering what Imaginary Jack had said, _where else have I to go? Do I really flatter myself that I mean so much to a certain pirate captain? _

I took a deep breath. "Should you appoint me, Sire," I concluded, "I would be honoured to accept, and faithful unto death in the execution of my duties."

"Well, well," the King smiled. "Very good. I shall take that as your oath of office." He extended his hand and I received the badge back from him, no longer as a keepsake of my father's memory, but henceforth as a sign of my own appointment.

"I shall send the _Royal Oak_ to Pencarren," his Majesty informed me. "She has been newly made-over with seventy guns and is already at Dock, provisioned and ready to sail to Helvoetsluys. By the by, I seem to recall your father mentioning the names of Edward Teague and Jack Sparrow many years ago." I acknowledged this with a quick nod.

"And this Captain Barbossa – can he also be relied upon?" asked the King.

"I-I have never known him to tell a lie or renege on an accord, Sire," I stammered, amazed to realise that this was actually true.

"Then the arrangements are concluded," he said, dismissing me with a wave of his hand. "You shall have your ship, your friends shall have their pardons, and I shall add to my treasury, remove a troublesome thorn, and acquire a King's Messenger loyal only to me. And now, to sleep," he concluded, yawning as he departed the room. "Godspeed, Nina Bitter. Ride like the devil is after you - and may success crown your endeavour, for you're no good to me dead."

I left the chamber and emerged from the building as the sun was rising; however, before I could go another step, a hand on my elbow restrained me. It was the Countess of Yarmouth.

"I hope your sacrifice to the Crown inspires your friends to noble actions," she said, in her soft German accent, "But I have an abundance of practicality regarding the management of money, and I must advise you as a woman to be practical, also, and not abandon yourself to poverty." She handed me a small leather pouch. "Hide this well. It is a trifle for the future, so that you may not be penniless." With a quick smile, she disappeared back behind the door.

I opened the pouch and was stunned to see a small heap of loose diamonds. Closing it quickly, I took pains to conceal it securely on my person; then I ran back to my pony and made ready to ride to Pencarren.

The day was fading as I drew near the town. I dismounted and walked beside my tired mount, and noticed the presence of storm clouds far offshore, similar to the ones Barbossa had shown me near Carolina. As I wondered what this might portend, I spied two familiar figures trudging along the road towards me. "Pintel!" I cried out. "Ragetti! Where are you going? I need you to return me to the _Pearl_!"

They hurried to meet me, and Pintel began to give me most unwelcome and alarming news.

"After we took ye ashore, we turned right round to make for the _Pearl_, but that bloody fog was so think ye couldn't see a sausage."

"Not a sausage," Ragetti chimed in, shaking his head.

"We couldn't get back to the _Pearl_, 'aving no sight of 'er. So we took cover under the dock, an' that's likely the only thing wot saved us," Pintel continued, as Ragetti nodded agreement. "Some'ow, there were longboats out in that blessit fog, makin' for the _Pearl_."

He didn't have to tell me whose men these were; it could only be the work of my uncle, the old Judge. I remembered how the fog had looked wrong to me – proceeding in the opposite direction than any fog I had ever seen at Pencarren. By what uncanny means, I wondered, could the Judge call down the very weather? With a shudder, I recalled Tia Dalma's hints of the power Hanibal was seeking; now it seemed that the rumours of his supernatural studies might be true.

Pintel continued recounting his story. "The men on the longboats overran the _Pearl_," he said. "Some of 'er crew was brought ashore, others was killed."

"And Barbossa?" I interrupted him. Pintel and Ragetti shook their heads. "We didn't see the Cap'n," said Ragetti. "'E might 'ave been on one of them longboats or on Charon's ferry, for all we could tell."

"They took the prisoners to 'ighcliffe 'ouse," added Pintel. "That's when we decided to give our 'eels to Pencarren; weren't nothink t' be done."

"Yes, there is," I insisted at once. "Listen to me: there is a battle coming tonight, and we are going to free our crew and liberate the town. I need you to go back to Pencarren after dark. There are batteries of cannon covering the harbour, and you must spike the guns – it's vital."

By this time we had reached the point in the road nearest to the forest where once the gypsies had encamped. I walked with them to the edge of the woods. "Stay here until the sun sets," I told them. "I'll make for Highcliffe." We parted, and I continued warily on the path through the woods towards Highcliffe House, hoping I would find Barbossa still alive.

In the silence of the deep woods, treading softly, I heard the faint snap of a twig. Drawing my pistol, I turned quickly and fired at the man pointing a weapon at me. He fell, but I saw the others, three of them, all aiming pistols at me, and someone struck the back of my head a heavy blow. Dropping my pistol and sack, I fell onto my hands and knees in the leaves and dirt. A hand pulled my scimitar from its scabbard, and a boot kicked my side, enough to topple me over. Looking up, I saw a bony, dirty figure.

"Well, well, if it ain't me missus," said Mawgan Curnow.

* * *

Next: Ch. 23 - A Bitter Reunion - In which we meet Hanibal Bitter, Lord Chief Justice of the Court of Life and Death.


	23. A Bitter Reunion

**DISCLAIMER: **I have no claim whatsoever to any of the brilliant POTC characters; I am grateful to be sitting at a banquet table set by truly talented storytellers.

* * *

**A Bitter Reunion**

His eyes were just as I remembered them, as black and hard as stones, and the pitiless grin on his face revealed a row of crooked, narrow teeth unpleasantly suggestive of a weasel.

Squatting down at my side, Curnow said, "Come t' see yer old man at last? Didn't expect me t' welcome ye back so prompt, did ye?" This display of wit garnered appreciative guffaws from his men.

"She missed me, didn't she? She might reward me right here!" he said, continuing with his taunts as the rest of the leering blackguards shouted and whistled. "Be nice, an' I'll go easy on yer back an' belly." He extended his hand, and I spat upon it. His men laughed at this, and their laughter grew louder as he struck me hard across my mouth with the same hand. "Now ye can spit blood," he said.

Curnow put a halter around my neck and tightened the noose. "Geddup," he ordered, taking a clasp-knife from his belt. "I only have to bring ye to Highcliffe – the Judge don't care what else I do, as long as yer breathin'. So if ye want ta keep yer ears, ye'll come along quiet-like, or get a bit of knife work done on ye."

As they led me along the road to Highcliffe, I gathered my wits enough to try whether I might gain some information about the fate of Barbossa and his crew.

Knowing how he enjoyed gloating, I gave Curnow a defeated look and asked him how they had known I was in Pencarren. He told me that Hanibal had got word of a ship laying by and had sent a boarding party to make prize of her. When they realised what sort of ship she was, they thought to bring the men to my uncle so that he could discover their purpose. All the men were disarmed and searched, and the captain was found to have a letter from me. I kept my eyes upon the ground as I heard these details.

By this time we were on the lane that passed Williams' mill, which was boarded up and being guarded by three ruffians. A fourth man was carrying some buckets to the door. Curnow called out to him at once. "Oi! Where ye goin' with that?"

"Bringin' somethin' t' put water in fer the pris'ners," the man replied.

"On whose orders?" Curnow demanded. The man shrugged.

"Thought so. Take it back." There was a boastful, bullying tone to Curnow's voice, full of the small authority Hanibal allowed him.

The man turned away from the mill and walked with Curnow's gang. Curnow grinned at me. "We locked 'em up in the mill. But never you mind, duchess," he added with a sneer. "They won't be there long. I expect tomorrow'll find us busy with the Judge's work."

We continued up the lane, as the skies grew more overcast. Brief gusts of wind ruffled across the tops of the hedges as we made our way up a gentle slope. My footsteps slowed, and I wondered why the familiar surroundings seemed different. Then it struck me: from where I stood, the chimneys and rooftop of Highcliffe's largest farm, Nancewreath, should have been visible. At the crest of the rise, I stopped. Curnow grinned and announced with relish, "Been a few changes, duchess."

Without replying, I made my way down the other side of the rise and approached Nancewreath's wicket gate. With a dreamer's sense of unreality, I gazed in horror at the scene before me. Where the pretty farm house once stood, there was only a roofless, deserted ruin. The whitewashed walls of the house were disfigured and blackened where huge flames must have scorched them, and the thatch roof and entire first storey had fallen in, leaving a few clumps of thatch resting upon the tops of the broken walls.

Charred roof timbers angled towards the sky under a wrack of grey clouds, and even the chimney had been toppled, its unhewn stones lying scattered upon the ground, where the heat of the fire had left black and brown swathes of dead grasses. The door and some of the windows still had the remains of wooden slats nailed across them; it seemed that Nancewreath must have been abandoned and boarded up before the fire.

Through the eyeless holes which had once been windows, the interior of the whole structure was visible. Only the outside walls remained, and the house was open to the sky. Nature's hand had seeded a dense carpet of fresh grass dotted with tiny white blossoms across the dirt floor, like a blanket of flowers laid upon a casket. I shivered.

All along the fence where I stood, fragrant honeysuckle and sweetbrier grew untended, in a weedy, riotous tumble of thorns, inflorescence and green leaves; life contending with death and refusing to be defeated, even in the face of destruction and ruin.

Curnow and his men did not urge me to keep walking or attempt to draw me away from the gate; rather, they hung back with secret smiles at the tears that filled my eyes, waiting for me to ask how this catastrophe had come about. Some inner wariness kept me from speaking, and after I had surveyed every detail of the shocking scene before me, I turned back into the lane, and we resumed our march to Highcliffe House.

Upon arriving, they led me into Highcliffe's Great Hall. I noticed a large number of ill-looking men that seemed to have made it their barracks. "Right, lads! Ye can call off the search," Curnow shouted to everyone present. "I've found the poxy bitch."

Curnow took the sack with my belongings, and was admitted to the library, which I presumed Hanibal now used as his headquarters. Shortly thereafter, orders issued forth to bring me into his presence, and I was led through the oak door to the library.

There he sat, just as I remembered him, my father's murderer and brother; his booted feet on the table that served as a desk.

He appeared bored and full of arrogant pride as he casually drank rum from a richly-engraved silver tankard. The men in the Bitter family tended to tall, lean figures and Hanibal was no exception. He was elegantly attired in fitted breeches and velvet embroidered waistcoat, with a red madder coat and French riding boots. Rather too much of the very best lace hung from his coat sleeves and rippled down the front of his shirt. _As though fine clothing and an accident of birth will make you what you'll never be – a gentleman, _I thought. Anger hardened my face as I stared at him.

One lanky arm was hooked over the carved finial of his panelled chair back in a lazy attitude that belied the deadly strength and demonic energy I knew he possessed. His long face and thin, aquiline nose reminded me uncomfortably of my father, but the malice that animated my uncle's features was entirely his own.

His pale, ice-blue eyes showed no trace of any human feeling; whatever cold intelligence lay behind them was impossible to read as I stood before him. On Hanibal's right, I saw Mawgan Curnow, his rat-like face triumphant. I wondered if that face was the last thing my father had seen, thinking how it would have amused Hanibal to give me to the black-hearted maggot who had taken my father's life. I longed to seize my scimitar and kill them, with a passion made my fingers twitch. Noticing my agitation, Curnow and Hanibal smiled, mistaking it for anxiety.

Taking a deep breath and flexing my fingers, I turned my eyes away from the men I was determined to dispatch, and glanced at the table. The spancel and my letter to Barbossa were lying there, and a sudden pang of fear stabbed at my breastbone. I forced myself to look away.

"Dear me, niece!" the Judge began, in mock dismay. Detached amusement flickered in his chilly, hooded eyes as he insolently looked me up and down, taking in my tangled hair and the bruise Curnow's blow had left on my face. "You look a bit rough these days, despite playin' the lover."

He picked up my note with a sigh. "Such tender concern for your paramour, and such distain for the interests of your last remaining relative – and for your poor, abandoned husband!" At this, Curnow burst out laughing.

"A forced marriage is no marriage," I retorted, "as your law books might teach you, had you read them; but why bother? Even a dog is obeyed when he barks from the judge's bench."

"I see your tongue is as shrewish as ever," rejoined the old Judge sharply. "But tonight I'll be pronouncin' me final sentence – upon you. T'is many years since we last met, and much has changed in Pencarren. The people have found that I'm easy enough on 'em when I'm not crossed.

"This," he snatched up and flourished my letter, spitting out the words, "_this_, would be an instance of crossing me, madame!" He dropped the letter on the table again, and spoke more calmly.

"Naturally," he assured me, "I have already taken measures against the _Black Pearl_ and her crew. You may expect no assistance from that quarter, niece. Perhaps you marvelled at the mysterious bank of fog? Well, no matter if you did not. I am only beginning my studies in certain areas, and the results are most encouraging. But there is still the question of your defiance." He drummed his fingers upon the table in silence, as he considered what to do with me.

"T'is a wonder to me," he said at last, "that persons held to be of normal intelligence can persist in so childish and idiotic a course of self-destruction." He paused, then added, "I'm told you came by way of Nancewreath?" I made no reply.

Leaping to his feet, he strode about the room in silence, with his hands clasped at his back like a doctor of letters who readies a lecture.

As he paced, I focused all my attention on him, secretly studying his neck for a sign of anything hanging there that resembled Jack's description of the Basilikon. However, he appeared to wear no amulet or ornament at all.

Turning to me at last, he began his lesson. "If only you had remained at Highcliffe," he said in a tone of sympathetic regret, "under the care of your devoted uncle, you would have profited by the example of Nancewreath, and perhaps even mended your ways."

I smiled at this, knowing he had never intended me to live, and his expression changed to one of displeasure. He glanced at the others in the room.

"As you see," he remarked, waving his hand at me, "Repentance always comes too late for persons with a defiant caste of mind."

Then he suddenly returned my smile, as though the two of us were sharing a jest, which unnerved me more than his scowl."You will recall that your father had let Nancewreath to Jim and Molly Martin just before I came into possession of Highcliffe," he told me, speaking as if he were ordering me.

"I recall it," I said, steadily. My father had let Nancewreath for a very low rent to help the newly wedded young Martins, who were very poor. I also recalled how this had rankled with Hanibal when he went over the list of Highcliffe's tenants.

"As it happened, I discovered that the farm was in a desperate and disgusting state of neglect," Hanibal said, still smiling at me, "and I was forced to order a great many costly repairs."

_What repairs?_ I wondered. Nancewreath had been in excellent shape; Hanibal's claim was pure fiction.

"Of course this caused the levying of fines and heavy expenses upon the unfortunate Martins and their growing brood of brats, who added to the general nuisance." He paused to consider the young family with distaste. "I'm not sure one or two didn't come to some sort of harm. It seems likely. In this part of the country, unwanted brats do have a way of falling into old mine shafts. Or wells."

I stared at the floor, unable to bear the thought of what he was suggesting. There was truly no deed too black for Hanibal's murderous soul, and in the midst of his dark insinuations, he was even audacious enough to slander his victims. Inwardly I was burning to put an end to his barbarous cruelties.

"At the same time," he went on, "I discontinued the old system of open fields. I enclosed the fields and hay meadows, and restricted their use to myself." He lifted his brows, and turned a mild gaze upon a corner of the ceiling.

"Of course, Nancewreath lost its arable land and pastures, but it is the coming thing, you know. The old ways . . ." He shrugged. "Ah, well, there's not much to be said for a farm that cannot plant crops or graze sheep, is there? Or for a farmer who cannot pay his landlord?"

Then he turned a malevolent stare upon me. "I presume you have not been abroad so long as to forget that vagrancy is a crime punishable by branding, whipping, and other measures?"

"So, with all your stolen wealth, you would stoop to ruining a small farm, and turfing out the tenants?" I said, trying to control the rage in my voice.

"Dear child, who ever told you that?" Hanibal said with surprise. "I was _quite_ prepared to shield them from their fate." He smiled thinly. "I offered employment to Jim Martin. And he agreed to it."

Finally I understood how he had conquered Pencarren; not with an army, but by entrapping his victims. He had the power to gradually strangle the prospects of anyone in his path until they could only turn to him, their oppressor, and beg. Poor Jim Martin had become a cat's paw, to be used by my uncle. Hanibal would have tried him with less villainous work in the beginning, to slowly discern the limits of his conscience and desperation.

Hanibal was smiling indulgently as he continued. "Martin was not a dull man, though sadly, he proved far less intelligent than I had hoped," he said with a sigh.

"I instructed him to use a particular vessel as a fire ship for an undertaking in which I stood to gain considerably." He was watching me now, and I knew the story was reaching its crisis. "And he declined – declined and left my employ. And why? Because he stubbornly insisted that the passengers be saved, in the face of his employer's interests to the contrary."

He paused and regarded me with a calculating, piercing stare. "Like you, he chose to defy me," he said quietly. "When he was captured and brought to me, I sentenced him to – well, perhaps t'is hardly fit for a lady's ears, but after his sentence was carried out, we left his head on a pike on the roof of Highcliffe House, as a salutary warning for others, and as food for the ravens."

My face was pale with shock. "And what of his family?" I asked, a sick feeling taking hold of my stomach.

He picked up a taper and held it to the flame of a candle.

"Crossing me seems to bring bad fortune," Hanibal observed carelessly. "That very night, a fire of unknown origin broke out at Nancewreath. The farm burned and the rest of the Martin family perished." He paused, and then added with a sigh, "Perhaps it was better that way, given their despair at Martin's punishment."

"_All_ of them?" I exclaimed. "How is it that none could escape?"

He smiled knowingly, and with slow deliberation, snuffed out the taper with his fingers.

In my mind's eye, I could see the burned farm; I had thought it abandoned before the fire, with its windows boarded over and door padlocked shut. But Hanibal had revealed to me the full extent of his crimes.

Seeing comprehension set in, my uncle chuckled under his breath and leaned against the table. "How many tenants do you think Highcliffe has?" he asked me, with an easy smile. "How many inhabitants has the town? And how many of 'em do you think fail to pay me the respect I demand?"

"Considering the depravity you show," I answered coldly, "all those left alive must follow you like lambs. But I would be curious to know the fate of the others. Are their bodies thrown into the wells hereabouts? Surely you don't trouble to provide secret burials for all of them . . . as you did in Launceston, for example?"

Hanibal stood quite still for a moment, and regarded me with an icy stare. _So_ y_ou believed no one knew, did you?_ I thought.

Though I gave no outward sign, I had become hard as stone. Had there been a weapon in my hand, I would have struck my target without the slightest hesitation or fear for myself. I silently vowed that, one way or another, I would avenge his victims. I was brought abruptly out of my meditation by Hanibal's next words.

"Clearly," he announced, "you mean to continue ignoring your uncle's wishes and rejecting his generous treatment of you. You have therefore forced me to make an example of you and your piratical cohort, who escaped me years ago in the very town you have named."

_Then Hector is alive,_ I thought, relief flooding through my veins._ He must have been with the others in Williams' mill._

"You'll not be needing your worldly goods, niece," Hanibal announced, lifting the bag at my feet and slinging it into a corner. "I convict you and Captain Hector Barbossa of offenses of robbery and piracy, and sentence you both to be taken to the place of public execution at sunrise, and to be hanged until dead, and your heads afterward displayed upon pikestaffs."

He raised his face slightly and smiled down at me, before turning back to the table. "And this will make a pretty gift for your dear uncle – one which I will put to good use, I assure you." He picked up the spancel and tucked it into his waistcoat with his long fingers. "Have you anything to say?" he asked airily. "Any last wishes?"

Even in this extremity, I would have begged him, yielded to any shame he might inflict upon me, if I could have traded it for Barbossa's freedom. But I knew that Hanibal only freed his prisoners through death.

For a moment, I closed my eyes and pictured Hanibal surrounded by fire, suffering the same fate that he had devised for the Martins. I saw him burning as bright as a torch, leaving nothing but grey ash where the flames had consumed him. _This is my wish for you,_ I thought, breathing deeply. _May you find it out one day._

Then I opened my eyes and looked at this loathesome creature, a distorted, corrupted version of his brother's noble image, so confident that he had compassed my demise, and I laughed. Seeing the surprised faces of the ruffians, I addressed Hanibal.

"I think my wishes are well known to you," I said. "But I will give you a warning and a promise. My warning is that you should put the time left you to some use other than furthering wicked designs which will fail to bear fruit. In any case, you could hardly attain to greater iniquity than what you have already accomplished. As for my promise, I give you my word, which I have yet to break, that when tomorrow's light falls upon the roof of Highcliffe, it will be your head upon the pikestaff, your men who are scattered and dead, and your tyrannical rule over Pencarren that is broken."

The Judge's expression had filled with hatred and anger as I spoke. "Clearly your wanderings have led you to madness," he said, trying to compose himself. "And now, since morning comes early in these latitudes, I order you remanded to your place of rest. Get her out of my sight," he hissed, as I continued to stare at him.

Two ruffians seized me and brought me forcibly up the stairs. Unlocking the door to my old room, they pushed me roughly through it, blocking another prisoner who was trying to force his way out. To my inexpressible joy, I was thrust straight into the arms of Hector Barbossa. "He means to kill us at sunrise," I managed to gasp.

Behind me, the door slammed. I heard the key turn, and the heavy footstep of the sentry posted in the hall outside.

* * *

Next: Chapter 24 - Whalebone and Steel - In which a nimble friend proves useful.


	24. Whalebone and Steel

**DISCLAIMER: **I have no claim whatsoever to any of the brilliant POTC characters; I am grateful to be sitting at a banquet table set by truly talented storytellers.

* * *

**Whalebone and Steel**

Barbossa's expression darkened as he took hold of my shoulders and peered keenly at my face. "Who struck ye?" he growled through his teeth.

"It is my greeting from Mawgan Curnow," I replied. "But it doesn't signify – I've found you and you're alive!" I threw my arms around his neck and we embraced, but then he held me off again, scowling at me as he spoke.

"How came ye here?" he demanded, frustration and anger in his voice. "Ye swore ye'd be miles away!"

"I told you I would return after my errand," I replied. "That's why I gave you the letter. Why didn't you destroy it? The Judge sent his scoundrels to waylay me, and now-"

"Yer loyalty be the ruin of ye, silly wench – yer head will be alongside mine on a pikestaff!" he said. He gave me a rough shake as he released my arms, and I recalled Rufus' warning not to expect pleasantries from Barbossa when danger threatened.

"And what matter is that?" I rejoined, raising my voice. "My place is still fighting by your side, whether we get clear or die!"

He rolled his eyes impatiently. "What good does it do t' be reunited, seein' as we've no future? There be no way out of this chamber!" He swept his arm towards the windows, all of which were now barred.

"Then we shall leave through the door-" I began to reply, but Barbossa gestured for silence. He pointed to the door, through which I could hear the muffled sounds of our sentry drawing closer in order to hear our words. I signed to Barbossa that I would keep my voice down.

As I began to survey my former room, I saw that disorder reigned and everything was torn to bits: the chest with my gowns was missing, my other clothes lay in heaps upon the dusty floor, my bed was broken down and collapsed, and the remaining furniture tumbled about. My wardrobe had also been removed; I supposed it had been broken to bits and burnt for wood in one of Highcliffe's many fireplaces.

"Did ye see any o' me crew?" Barbossa asked. "D' ye have any news of 'em?"

"They've locked up most of the crew in Mr Williams' mill," I told him. "I was marched past it on the way here." Then a question struck me. "Why do you suppose the Judge is keeping you here and not with your men?" I enquired.

Barbossa gave me a quick, sidelong look and a cynical smile. "T'is no great mystery, lass. A crew be easier t' govern when they think their captain dead."

"That must surely be his purpose," I replied. "But he must reckon my skills poorly if he thinks I shall wait here like a stupid woodcock to have my neck wrung." My eyes went to the high, dusty chimney-shelf where I had hidden my father's best sword all those years ago. Was there any likelihood at all that it still lay there, undiscovered?

I pushed the only remaining chest to the most advantageous site, and stood upon it, stretching my arm towards the shelf. Barbossa watched me with growing curiosity. "What are ye seekin'?" he finally asked.

"Something I want," I replied, "if indeed it hasn't been pilfered. Would you oblige me by trying whether your hand can reach the back of the shelf? I climbed upon my wardrobe to do it years ago, but perhaps you are tall enough?"

Barbossa stood on the chest and tried, but even with his height, his hand only grazed the shelf's front edge. "What did ye keep up there? A key to the door?" he asked me as he stepped down.

"It's of no account if it cannot be fetched down," I replied, not wishing to frustrate him with the prospect of such a perfect weapon so tantalizingly out of reach. Next, I knelt beside the piles of clothes and began searching. Going through each heap, I first found my leather gauntlets and bodice, and then my stays, stiffened with whalebone. I seated myself on my ruined bed and extended my hand to Barbossa. He joined me and I asked him once more about the letter.

"Why did you not do as I asked and destroy it, seeing that Hanibal knew to expect me as soon as he read it?" As I talked, I bit and picked at the stitching of my stays, trying to open one of the channels that held the boning.

"I was tardy in disposin' of it," he replied with some reluctance; and I looked at him quizzically. He shrugged. "T'was an uncommon sort o' letter fer me, what with the sentiments ye set down, an' bein' directed t' 'Hector', an' all the rest. I was inclined t' read it over again is all."

Then, changing the subject, he asked, "What was yer errand that ye spoke of? Where did ye get off to?"

"My errand was in Plymouth." I took a deep breath, and began to explain to him how matters stood. "Firstly, you and I are not alone in wishing to be revenged upon the Judge. Captain Teague told me he intended to follow us; he means to avenge the deaths of my father and Marianne Bitter." I looked up from the stays where I had almost worked a piece of whalebone out of the channel.

"Still playin' yer cards close, eh? Ye might have told me," Barbossa said, extremely annoyed.

"But I don't know if or when Teague might join us, or what he might do," I answered. "I may have little experience in ventures of this kind, yet I know we can't rely upon the _Troubadour_. So there really wasn't very much to tell you."

Barbossa shifted restlessly. "Teague an' his crew ain't enough in any case," he grumbled. "Did ye see the batteries o' cannon along the sea wall? An' two ships, by my count, with the Judge's ensign hoisted. The town's overrun with his cutthroats."

Then he took my chin in his hand and tipped my face towards his. "An' now," he said firmly, "ye'll give me an honest account of yer doin's in Plymouth, m'girl." His expression was grim and I saw that he had expected no secrets between us.

"I went to Plymouth to seek help from King George," I answered, as his eyes widened in surprise. "I didn't want to tell you because I feared you'd find a way to prevent me – and I wasn't sure it would work," I added, thinking for the first time how fortune had favoured me. "I used my father's Messenger badge to secure an audience."

I gave the whalebone a final tug. "And this is what I'll use to pick the lock on our door," I announced, pulling it loose from the stays, "although we must decide how to deal with Hanibal's sentry."

"By all the gold in Peru, I can never judge your limits, woman," Barbossa replied, shaking his head. "And I suppose ye reached an accord with the King, too?" It was clear that the time for secrets was past, though I knew my negotiations would make him furious.

"I have made the best bargain I could," I said hesitantly, "but you won't care for it. He is sending a warship with seventy guns, and grants us all pardon for any offense past or present; but in exchange, the Crown takes Hanibal's treasure and all my own property." I braced for his reaction.

Barbossa was incredulous, and very displeased. "Ye promised him the gold?" he burst out. "Ye daft baggage, yer twice as aggravatin' as Sparrow any day! Ye should have trusted me!"

I bristled. "The way Jack trusted you?" I asked tartly, slanting my eyes at him. He glared at me and tightened his jaw, ready for a fight. But the moment I had finished speaking, all my ill-temper had turned to sore contrition. I put my palms against my forehead with a heavy sigh; then I reached out to lay my hand upon his sleeve.

"Oh, Hector," I said, with an ache in my throat, "Forgive me. I didn't mean it; and yes, I should have trusted you. It's wrong, all wrong of us to oppose each other - especially now. We've come so far, and you've risen so high in my affections; the past mustn't undo us."

I rubbed the cuff of his coat gently. "My dear," I said tenderly, and by the look he gave me I wondered if anyone had ever addressed him thus, "I did the best I could. We need his help, and what did I have to offer, other than the gold? Even so, there was yet another condition I had to accept." He studied me, not quite willing to forgive the loss of so much plunder, but listening. I drew a deep breath.

"I have taken my father's place as a King's Messenger. My duties will be secret even from the King's ministers, and likely dangerous. I am to act as his agent, and his alone. I am free to live as I please until he has need of me. Then he will send for me . . . and I will be obliged to go. In exchange, he will continue to grant me any papers I need to help certain of my friends, should they be in . . . in difficulties."

"Difficulties of a hangin' nature?" inquired Barbossa. I nodded.

"And exactly how dangerous be these 'duties'?" he asked.

"As dangerous as he likes, I suppose," I replied.

"And how often will the King be requirin' yer services?"

"As often as he likes," I said. Then, seeing the troubled look he gave me, I hastened to add, "That is, I suspect that these services are occasional. When I'm not on the King's errands, I may take myself where I will. However, I cannot predict when he will summon me – it may not be for a year, or it may be much sooner."

Barbossa sat in silence for a moment, then he grunted and turned his thoughts back to the situation at hand. "So Teague is expected. And I'll wager with Teague comes Sparrow - with you _and_ the _Pearl_ at Pencarren, that's a certainty." He looked at me quickly, with a hint of resentment. "Well, I suppose ye'll be glad t' see him again," he added, grudgingly.

"Naturally," I answered, not sure what to say. I could see that he was somehow jealous of Jack, though I knew not why.

"But whether Sparrow tries t' claim ye fer himself or no, there be no doubt he means t' claim the _Pearl," _he added. "An' Teague'll back him. So what are we to do, pray tell, with no ship and no gold?"

"Ah! I understand you," I said. _Of course, _I thought,_ it doesn't involve me - it's about the_ _Pearl._

"As a matter of fact," I said, taking the small leather pouch from beneath my shift and holding it out, "when I petitioned the King, a certain kindly acquaintance of his bestowed a trifle on me, to keep me from penury. It should easily purchase a fine ship."

Barbossa looked at me with narrowed eyes and took the pouch from my hand. Pulling it open, he stared at the diamonds inside. After a long moment, during which I believe he counted them, he drew the pouch closed and smiled.

"Now tell me, little bird, did ye plan this too? Or have ye taken t' makin' it up as ye go, like Sparrow?" He dropped the pouch into a pocket of his coat.

Before I could answer, there was a chattering noise from outside the window, and the sound of little paws trying the glass.

"Jack is here!" we both exclaimed, although I meant my friend and not Barbossa's monkey.

I pushed the window slightly open against the outer bars, and Barbossa's pet slipped through the gap and leapt into the room.

Barbossa welcomed the monkey with many endearments and a gentle voice, as he petted the little animal. Once again I marvelled at the many aspects of his personality that Barbossa concealed from the world. Although he was ruthless, lethally dangerous, and implacable in war – and he was at war with most of the world – he was also at times immensely protective and secretly tender to those towards whom his heart inclined.

As Barbossa greeted his pet, I had a sudden idea. "Can you send him up to the shelf? Can he help fetch down my father's sword?"

Barbossa raised his eyebrows. "So that's what ye be hidin' up there, eh?" He rose to his feet and lifted Jack towards the shelf, encouraging him to leap upon it. Jack sprang up easily, and looked back at his master. Barbossa motioned for him to move further back on the shelf, and we heard a clattering sound as the monkey scampered across a sizable object.

"That's it!" I cried. "Can he knock it down?"

"Jack, Jack, bring it to daddy," Barbossa coaxed the monkey. We heard scraping as Jack pushed the scabbard to the edge of the shelf, and then the sword's basket hilt appeared above our heads.

"Push it off; that's the boy," urged Barbossa, and the sword toppled off the shelf. Barbossa caught it as it fell, and drew the blade from its scabbard. He looked very pleased indeed as he tried a few strokes with it and inspected the edge. "Put away honed and oiled," he observed. "Battle-ready."

He studied the letters on the blade. "_Scientia ad manuam vires dat._ Means 'Knowledge give strength t' the hand'," he translated. I stared at him in amazement, utterly speechless. "Ye still think me no schollard, eh?" he said with a wry smile. "I read me lessons as a boy, an' taught meself the rest."

I turned the sword in his hand so he could read the other side. "_Fiate iustitia licet caelum cadet_," he read, then looked into my eyes. "Means 'Let justice be done, an' the heavens fall.' Words befittin' a fine weapon an' a good fight, sweetheart." He put one arm about my waist and pulled me tightly against him. The passion of the kiss he gave me then was enough to make my legs crumple, and I knew he had forgiven me for surrendering the gold to King George.

"Keep the diamonds," I murmured softly as I nuzzled his ear. "I need the sword. I mean to use it to kill Hanibal."

"Oh, no ye don't," Barbossa replied, kissing me. "I need this sword t' free me crew!"

"Well, then, at least let me hold it in my hand for a moment?" I asked, smiling and lightly tracing his ears and jaw with my fingernails. "I haven't touched it for such a long time."

Barbossa's mouth curved into a lascivious smile as he thought, no doubt, of other things he might prefer me to touch, but then he handed the sword to me. I quickly backed out of his reach, tucking it securely into my belt: not for naught had I grown up with Jack Sparrow.

"This was my father's best weapon," I told him. "It is an heirloom, and I'm claiming it – and there's an end to it!"

"Me weapons are on the _Pearl_," Barbossa objected vehemently, making a grab for me.

I turned so that he could not get at the sword. "We shall get a fine sword for you from the gun room or the armoury," I promised. "In any case, you must find the crew before you can free them, sword or no sword. If you surrender this one, I'll show you how to reach them."

He stepped back, but I could see from his expression that I had achieved only a temporary truce. I cleared a space on the floor and, motioning him to join me, began to draw in the dust with my finger, sketching out Highcliffe's estate.

Barbossa looked over my map as I explained its features. "This is where we are, and here's the mill," I said. "It's about a mile away. If you go by the Small Pond," I indicated a curve, "the land is all out of cultivation and no one should see you. A road to Highcliffe was proposed there ages ago, so I know you can reach the mill this way." Barbossa asked one or two questions and then nodded agreement. I outlined the mill with my finger.

"The doors are all on this side. The upper floor has two windows overlooking, and one on the side – all boarded up and nailed shut. One sentry in front, one by the wheel side outside the high wall, and a third here," I indicated double doors. "They had pistols and muskets – you can overpower one of them and take his weapons. There's a disused leat here that you can probably use to get closer without being seen."

Barbossa studied the map, squinting his eyes. At last he looked up at me. "And what d' ye propose t' do with yerself while I'm freein' the crew?" he asked.

"Once they're free, they'll need arms," I answered. "I mean to hunt up the keys to Pencarren's armoury and meet you there – Highcliffe House always had the keys," I added, in response to his puzzled frown.

I went back to my map. "From the mill, follow this path into town, but stay off the road. The armoury's just over the road from Calenick Street."

"And then?" Barbossa inquired. "Any more manoeuvres ye've got up yer sleeve?" His expression was stern and alert; I could see he was eager for battle and, for the second time, I thought of Rufus' words. I was certainly being shown the soldierly, commanding side of Barbossa and not the convivial traits I had seen aboard the _Pearl_.

"Only one," I told him, beginning to dress myself for fighting in the leather bodice and gauntlets. "On my way back, I chanced upon Pintel and Ragetti. I thought to make cannonading the town a bit safer for the _Troubadour, _so I asked them to spike the guns as soon as the sun sets."

Barbossa uttered a short, approving laugh. "Teague'll thank ye for that one," he remarked, watching me dress.

"I pray all goes to plan," I replied, "But I imagine the fighting will get hot enough after the _Royal Oak_ joins the fray."

I pulled on my gauntlets and turned to face Barbossa.

"I have my own scores to settle, as do you," I said. "I can show you the best way out of the house, and then I hope to meet you at the armoury." I forbore urging him to take care; I had suddenly thought what it would mean to me if anything happened to him, and I didn't wish to show fear or doubt.

I went to the door and spoke in a whisper. "When I release this lock, I want you to pull the door open quickly and I shall kill the sentry." He made no reply, so I continued.

"The best way out is straight down the corridor and left at the end to the back stairs. On the ground floor, use the door to your left. It takes you through the drying yard – you won't be seen from the stables." I paused. "Good luck, Hector," I said, and quickly kissed him.

Then I knelt at the door to pick the lock. This posture required taking off the sword, which Barbossa made a move to reclaim. I seized the hilt with my free hand and continued to work on the lock.

But for once, the whalebone played me false. It did not have the strength to move the tumblers, and it broke in my hand. I pulled the broken piece out and tried again, with no better result, until I had only a few inches of whalebone left – too short to reach through the lock.

"Can't ye get it clear?" Barbossa asked, impatiently.

"No," I said as I stood up, sword in one hand and whalebone in the other. I showed him the broken whalebone, and raising my voice in frustration, declared loudly, "It won't do at all. I need it much _harder_, _stronger_ and _longer_."

There was a noise outside the door as our curious sentry moved closer once again to hear us. Barbossa caught my eye. "Here's how we get out," he whispered. He seized me around my thighs, the sword still in my hand, and lifted me to his loins as I wrapped my legs about him. He slammed my back against the wall beside the door, and proceeded to thrust against me rhythmically, producing a suggestive series of very noisy thumps. I did my part also, exhorting him loudly to give me more, and making lusty sighs and moans. We heard the key being hastily put into the lock and turned. Just at that instant, my robustious pirate yanked down my bodice and planted a ferocious kiss on my breast. I gasped with startled joy . . . and loosened my grip on the sword.

My beloved rogue instantly dropped me on my rump and, in one swift movement, seized the sword as the door opened and drove the blade straight through our sentry. As the man's body dropped to the floor, Barbossa stepped over it with his long legs. Then he set off at once, without a backward glance, my father's sword in his hand as he strode rapidly along the hall with Jack the monkey following him. At the end of the hall, he turned slightly and flashed me a triumphant grin before disappearing around the corner.

_Well played, you sweet rascal,_ I smiled to myself, adjusting my bodice. _A dirty trick worthy of Jack Sparrow himself._ Then I realised he would never willingly give back my father's sword, and I cursed the trickery of pirates under my breath. How would I get my weapons now?

As I glanced about my room, I saw through the window that there was a blaze of light out upon the water, and I rushed to peer at it. The sun had slipped below the horizon, and the light was caused by a ship burning in the harbour. There seemed to be a great commotion along the water's edge. Looking to my right, I spied a large jumble of carts and lumber blocking the street, and on the hill just beyond town it looked as though someone had lit a signal fire, probably using furze bushes.

In the street below, my uncle seemed to be directing his men, trying to understand and control the chaos that surrounded him, as the townsfolk and his own ruffians ran about in disarray.

_This is Jack's doing,_ I thought, joyfully. Realizing that the library was likely deserted, I darted from the room, turned right and ran for the stairs to retrieve my weapons and escape the house.

* * *

Next: Chapter 25 - Jack Sparrow Returns - In which two friends have a conversation dreaded by both.


	25. Jack Sparrow Returns

**DISCLAIMER: **I have no claim whatsoever to any of the brilliant POTC characters; I am grateful to be sitting at a banquet table set by truly talented storytellers.

* * *

**Jack Sparrow Returns**

Descending the stairs as quietly as possible, I found Highcliffe's Great Hall silent and empty. Hanibal must have ordered all his men into Pencarren's streets, for the entire house seemed quite deserted. I slid cautiously around the half-open door of the library and slipped into the room.

There were perhaps a dozen tankards scattered about, and several fresh splashes of rum on Hanibal's desk. The floor was littered with a sheaf of loose papers that looked as though it had been dropped and trodden on – all signs that my uncle and his ruffians had departed in haste. I snatched up my letter to Barbossa and threw it on the fire; at least it would now be out of Hanibal's reach. Crossing the room, I found my bag still in the corner where Hanibal had thrown it.

I searched through my belongings quickly, retrieving my scimitar and wedging the Messenger badge securely under my bodice. Then I crouched down and stealthily began to load my pistols.

As I concentrated on the guns, I heard a sudden cry of "_Hold yer fire!_" from the direction of the door. Gun in hand, I jumped to my feet and turned to find Jack Sparrow in the act of entering the library, his pistol aimed at me. His eyes widened as soon as he saw my face, and he heaved a sigh of relief. The warning shout had come from the man standing just behind him, none other than Peter Dawes, an old gypsy friend from years ago.

"Bless my eyes!" Mr Dawes exclaimed. "If it edn't Young Nina!"

Jack lowered his pistol, carefully letting down the hammer and holstering the weapon. "Didn't see it was you, darlin'!" he said, and stepped forward to embrace me. "That was close!" He motioned to Mr Dawes. "I've rallied our friends, and we've done our bit to get Hanibal's little army out of Highcliffe, at least for the moment. Now we've to find the armoury keys."

"Clasp-knives and cutlasses ain't enough t' finish the dogs," said Mr Dawes. "A few muskets with bayonets would be more to my liking."

I nodded and explained my own business. "I'm looking for the same keys. We need to arm the _Pearl_'s crew – they were captured and disarmed while I was at Plymouth." Then I drew Jack away from Mr Dawes' hearing.

"I have no proof," I told him in a low voice, "But I think my uncle is trafficking in supernatural matters. I'm afraid to think what it means if he has the Basilikon. I couldn't see it, but somehow I keep feeling that he's got it. He told me he took the _Pearl_ using some sort of mystical fog – and I promise you he's no madder than I am. And he's taken my spancel."

As I spoke, I had to step lively to keep up with Jack, who was darting about, rummaging through drawers, boxes and chests. "He's got the town subjugated," I continued more urgently, as I tagged after him, "And the _Pearl's_ crew imprisoned in Williams' mill! There are batteries of cannon covering the harbour, two ships sailing under his colours, and a horde of murderous rogues doing his bidding!" I paused, waiting anxiously to hear my friend's plan.

"First things first, love!" he replied, continuing his search. Suddenly he gave a triumphant _Aha! _and spun about to face me. In his hand was a large ring of jangling keys. "And Hanibal's forgotten one thing," he added with a confident grin.

"What?" I asked, eager to learn of some extraordinary advantage, hitherto overlooked.

"I'm Captain Jack Sparrow!" he explained, with a great flourish.

Seeing me look somewhat mystified, he added, "An' he's up against me, Barbossa, me dad, an' you, Brat! If we can't stop him, who can?"

_Who indeed,_ I wondered, but I returned Jack's smile and tried to look heartened.

We set out with Mr Dawes immediately, leaving the library through a window. Cutting across neglected fields, keeping away from roads and footpaths, we made our way at a rapid pace towards town and the armoury. Mr Dawes walked ahead with the keys, leaving Jack and me to converse as we tried to keep up with him.

"Are we expectin' a bit more company, courtesy of King George?" Jack enquired.

I nodded, breathing hard as we strode along. "One warship with seventy guns, the _Royal Oak_; and he'll pardon you, your father, Barbossa and all the crews through an Act of Grace. But I had to promise all my money to the Crown–"

"Plundered your coin, did he?" Jack remarked. "Then where's the Act of Grace for you, Brat? And how d' ye mean to live without a sixpence to your name?" He studied me with a bright-eyed stare.

"I won't need a pardon. I'm – well, I'm assuming Captain Harry's commission." We stopped momentarily and Jack looked at me in surprise. "I'm a King's Messenger now," I explained, "So I've got some sort of immunity. And I suppose I can always live off the diamonds."

Jack's face became intensely interested, like a cat that suddenly notices a flutter amongst the branches of a hedge. "Diamonds? As in, sparkly little trifles? Baubles, so to speak?" he asked.

"Indeed," I replied. "It was really the oddest thing – after I made my petition, a friend of the King actually handed me a little bag of them! I think she was the Duchess of Yarmouth."

Jack smiled knowingly, preening a bit. "Quite a charmer, isn't she? You must have mentioned my name."

_"_Trust you to have made her acquaintance_,"_ I remarked with a laugh.

"And where might said diamonds be at the moment?" He cocked his head to one side, frowning as he scrutinised my attire.

"Hec-mmm, Barbossa has them," I answered a bit too quickly.

"_Barbossa_ has them?" he repeated, as if I had announced the return of Davy Jones.

"I should say, he has _most_ of them." I opened my hand and showed Jack several diamonds I had palmed. Jack looked slightly mollified, but still wary.

"He had taken my father's sword," I replied, trying to explain. "So I traded the diamonds; at least I thought I had. He was to keep them and give me back the sword."

Jack rolled his eyes. "Diamonds for a sword. Brilliant," he said.

"And exactly where is said weapon-of-fabled-value?" he pursued, as I looked sheepish. "So he's got that, too, has he? And you expect he'll give it back? What are you playin' at, Brat?" he said, shaking his head. Then his expression changed to one of suspicion, and he added, "And speaking of the old scallywag, the other night . . ."

I interrupted him. "I dreamt–" we both said at the same time. We exchanged brief smiles; there were other occasions when we had experienced similar dreams.

But now Jack held up his hand, silencing me. "Was it a dream? Or a nightmare?" he inquired apprehensively. "Are you and Barbossa . . ." Words failed him, and he tried again.

"Were there actual, certifiable instances of having-it-off-ishness between you and . . . ?" He stopped once more, with a disgusted expression.

Finally, "Did that dirty old sod get a leg over you?" he demanded indignantly. I raised my eyebrows as he made a vulgar gesture with his hands and gave me a look of squeamish disbelief.

I looked away quickly, but Jack saw at once that it was true.

"On_ my_ _ship_? In _my_ _bed_? _Euugghh!_" Aghast, he made a face and gestured with both arms. "God, Brat, it's a wonder the bed-clothes didn't strangle you!" Gritting his teeth, he shook his head. "The miserable, scurvy old . . . goat!"

My face flushed with embarrassment as I tried to explain. "I was wrong about him. At least, I was wrong about my feelings for him."

"And you're _still_ wrong!" Jack retorted. "I insist on knowing exactly what he did to you!" He jabbed a finger in my direction for emphasis.

"What do you think he did? We had supper, and–"

"Stop!" Jack shouted, throwing up his hands. Ahead of us, Mr Dawes stopped walking and turned around, but Jack shooed him onward with a wave and turned back to me.

"So," he continued accusingly, "It's 'supper _AND_', is it? That'll do for the grisly details, thank you!"

Then he gave me a sly, calculating look. "You know he'll leave you, right? Love 'em and leave 'em – that's Hector!"

"Funny thing about that," I replied, walking faster. "He said exactly the same about you."

Jack pressed on, keeping pace with me. "He's a wicked old reprobate who's had every jade and bunter on four continents – do you think he's going to stop?" he asked with another jab of his finger.

I almost laughed. "Would you?" I retorted. Jack lifted his eyes to heaven, and I continued, almost trotting along to keep ahead, and talking to him over my shoulder.

"I care not a louse about his women!" I insisted. Stung by Jack's objections, I was ready to tell any lie that would silence him. "Let him have his pleasure where he will!" I added hotly. "What do you think goes on at the Court of St James, by the by?"

"He's old! Old and ugly!" Jack argued, catching up with me. "Why, I've caught toadfish that were better looking! _Most_ of them, in fact!"

"I think he's the handsomest man in the world!" I declared wildly.

"That sallow streak of filleted earwig?!" Jack shot back.

I was furious. "Stop it! I'll have you know that he's got–"

"_You_ stop! I don't care what he's got – spare me stomach the details!" Jack shouted, whilst making vigourous motions to the startled Mr Dawes to continue along the footpath. "Just tell me," he demanded, making his final appeal, "Is this what your dad would want for you? A dirty old reprobate that once tried to kill you? What d' you think Captain Harry would say?"

I ignored Jack's insults; at least I knew what my father would have said. "My father always told me that he wanted me to be happy, whatever life I chose," I told Jack firmly. "He would see what this means to me, and he would understand."

After a moment, during which we walked rapidly, side by side and somewhat out of breath, Jack resumed in a quieter, sardonic tone. "Give any thought to the considerable age difference, love? Or do you just want to make said dirty old reprobate die with a huge grin on his face, preferably sooner rather than later?"

This arrow struck home; I was only too aware of Barbossa's age, and Jack's barbed reminder brought me very low. I stopped and put my hand on his elbow.

"Jack," I pleaded, "listen to me – Oh, _why_ does it have to be you, of all people, that I'm explaining this to? – I'm in love with him, and it's the last thing I expected. After James, I wanted nothing to do with love; I shut my eyes. And yet, one day . . . there he was." I remembered my first sight of Barbossa as he boarded the _Pearl_, and how I had been powerless to stop staring at him.

"I thought the passions he stirred meant that I hated him," I told Jack. "But my heart knew him from the first moment, and now I can't run any more. Don't you see? His age, his past, his faults – none of it matters!"

To my intense mortification, I felt my eyes start to well up. "I can't help it," I said, "and you're only making it hurt."

Jack was instantly alarmed. "No! Stop it!" he said hastily, giving me a quick, awkward embrace. "No tears! Mouse, I am _ordering_ you – bloody hell, you know I hate it when you cry."

"No more than I do," I said, rubbing my eyelids and clearing my throat to compose myself. After a moment, I added, "Apologies, dear. I lost my head."

He tilted my chin towards his face with a worried look. "Really got it bad, eh, love? You actually fancy the dirty old scallywag, don' ya?" he sighed. "Who'd have thought the randy old git had it in him . . . " He kissed my forehead and looked at me questioningly. "Have you told him?"

I shook my head. "No . . . well, not everything. I have spoken with him. And we've . . . communicated in other ways," I added, my face colouring.

"I always did say he fancied you," said Jack. "Well, if he feels the same about you, then you should tell him what you just told me." Then he held up a warning finger. "But don't you say a word yet! Not till the opportune moment, savvy?" I nodded and he winked at me. "You'll know when it's time," he said.

Then he shook his head, laughing under his breath. "Oh, and next time you fall in love with me deadly enemy and want me advice, let's have a bit of warnin', eh, love? So I can put an ocean or two between us."

"I did tell you about this – in my dream," I reminded him, just as if it were a waking conversation. We resumed our journey, trying to catch up with Mr Dawes.

"And how did I take it?" he challenged me.

I shrugged and replied, "Rather well, I thought. You mentioned something about the universe having a wicked sense of humour."

"Hmmph," he responded with a sharp look. "Well, in _my _dream there was _rum_."

"In mine, as well," I assured him.

"Aha! Therefore, consequently, and in witness whereof, even in _your_ dream I had to be drunk as David's sow to take that news so well – Q.E.D."

Then he waved his arm at our surroundings. "D' ye see any rum now?" he asked. I shook my head and sighed.

He frowned for a moment, then one side of his mouth turned up in a half-smile as he surrendered the argument. "Never mind. Can't be helped, can it? It's only that . . . well, that's really torn it. You were always there when I needed you, Brat. I could always count on you. I'll miss you is all, savvy?"

"You can still count on me," I insisted. "That hasn't changed! I'll still be there when you need me!"

"Not a chance!" Jack scoffed. "He won't stand still for that." Suddenly, his face brightened. "Hang on – shouldn't he have to ask permission, assuming he's got the nerve to do right by you? I'm your family now – or as good as! And what _are_ his intentions anyway?"

"At the moment? His intentions are to defeat Hanibal."

Jack nodded and glanced at me out of the corner of his eye. "Well, if it comes to giving anyone in matrimony," he said with a golden grin, "I would insist upon standing in for Captain Harry, of course."

"Yes, of course; if it should ever come to that," I said, immensely relieved to be let off so easily. After striding along with me in silence, during which he seemed to weigh another question, Jack peered at me inquisitively. "Anything else, love, in that dream?"

I considered our dream conversation. "Yes, in fact there was: you told me Marianne wasn't your mother – that we're not cousins."

"Did I now?" he said casually. "That's interesting."

At that moment, the sounds of cannon fire erupted. We listened to the guns; the _Troubadour_ was cannonading the town, and there was no answering fire. Pintel and Ragetti had succeeded in spiking the guns.

"Right, then," said Jack. "Let's arm the populace, darlin'!" We broke into a run for the armoury.

* * *

Next: Chapter 26 - Let Justice Be Done - In which the fate of Pencarren is decided.


	26. Let Justice Be Done

**DISCLAIMER: **I have no claim whatsoever to any of the brilliant POTC characters; I am grateful to be sitting at a banquet table set by truly talented storytellers.

* * *

**Let Justice Be Done**

Jack and I arrived at the armoury to find a crowd of townsfolk and gypsies awaiting us. Mr Dawes had tried each key on the ring, but none would open the large padlock on the double doors. "What now?" he asked us.

_"Damn the keys!"_ a familiar voice roared, and we turned to see Barbossa shoving his way through the crowd.

He strode up to where we stood in front of the armoury doors, the crew of the _Pearl_ close on his heels. Thrusting Jack and me apart, he seized my pistols, aimed at the doors and fired. A great cheer went up from the assembly as the lock fell from its broken chain.

Barbossa turned to the crew and shouted, _"Now break 'em down, ye stinking bilge rats!" _and they proceeded to bash down the doors to the armoury.

Gypsies, townsfolk and pirates all swarmed into the arsenal, grabbing every weapon in sight. I took a sabre for myself, and found a dusty baldrick with a sword frog of about the right size. The leather was in a somewhat neglected state, but I buckled it on and took up the sabre, only to have it snatched away by Barbossa.

"Bad choice," he informed me. "Leave the fightin' to me; I can't be lookin' after ye. I've been usin' a sword since I was a lad, an' I intend t' join the fight, not be yer nursemaid." Then he put his hand on the hilt of my own scimitar, swiftly drawing it from its scabbard and hanging it on his belt.

Outraged at his tricks, I began to argue. "When was the time I asked you to look after me?" I demanded. "And what do you think I mean to do, if not join the fight? I intend to get square with Hanibal and the curs who attacked me, and I won't be baulked by you or anyone!" I lunged for my scimitar but he held me off.

"Then learn t' choose the right weapon," he growled. "This be a proper battle, not close quarters like y' have at sea. The shorter blades'll get ye killed. Ye need a better reach, t' begin with – here!" He handed me a rapier with a heavy ribbed pommel which I dropped into the sword frog for safekeeping. "An' take these," he added, handing me back my pistols.

"You used my last shot," I complained. "And now the armoury is empty!"

"Ye had but one shot?" he exclaimed, incredulous. "Think ye t' join a battle in that condition, ye witless blowen?"

"They were primed and ready before _you_ took them!" I pointed out, raising my voice to match his. "Furthermore–"

"Are you two lovebirds finished?" Jack inquired with a smirk.

Barbossa rounded on him. "Why is that any concern o' yers, Sparrow?"

Jack assumed a look of wide-eyed innocence. "I was only wondering," he replied, "did you mean to join that skirmish over there" – he rolled his eyes and tilted his head towards the shingle – "or just start a right ding-dong battle of your own?"

We quickly turned our eyes to the shingle, where longboats carrying pirates and soldiers from the _Troubadour_ and the _Royal Oak _had landed under cover of their ships' cannon fire. Hanibal's brigands were running down to the boats to fight them off, while Mr Dawes and the gypsies, many now carrying muskets and bayonets, joined in the battle. Jack, Barbossa and I hastily followed them.

"What are their names?" Jack suddenly demanded of me as we ran.

"Whose names?" I asked.

"You know very well – name 'em!" Jack retorted.

"Mawgan Curnow, Jago Colley, Goron Pascoe and Kenver Frayne," I said, "and I mean to avenge myself on every one!"

He nodded. "Not if I catch 'em first," he said through clenched teeth.

The wind was picking up as we neared the beach, and the sea was becoming rough; the storm I had seen hours earlier was almost upon us. In the harbour, one of Hanibal's ships was burning and being towed out to the "road" to keep the fishing boats from harm, courtesy of a contingent from the _Royal Oak_. The_ Pearl_ was being towed back to the _Troubadour _by another longboat, to be reclaimed later by her rightful owner.

Once on the shingle, I found myself attacked by a ruffian who slashed awkwardly with his cutlass. It was an easy matter to avoid his attack and drive the longer rapier straight through his middle. As soon as he fell, I spied Jago Colley in the thick of the fight, but I couldn't draw near enough to engage him. His opponent was steadily forcing him back to where some large fishing boats were beached and I had a sudden idea. I ran around the battling crowd and climbed up into the fishing boat nearest Colley.

As he retreated closer to my position, I stood up over Colley's head, holding the bloody end of the rapier in my gloved hands with the pommel down, as if I were preparing to drive a pall-mall ball through a wicket. When he was within reach, I swung my "mallet", as violently as I could, and the heavy pommel struck his head. He dropped like a stone, but the blade was slippery with gore, and the sword flew out of my hands. It landed near Barbossa, who, without looking for the source, snatched it up with his free hand, used it to finish his opponent, and then, holding two swords, moved away as he kept fighting. "Stop taking my swords, you – you **_pirate_**_!_" I shouted at him from atop the boat.

I dropped over the boat's side onto the shingle, and used my dagger to make sure Colley was dead. Grabbing the sword he had carried, I set off again. The tide seemed to be rising unusually fast; water had begun to cover the beach, and the battle was moving up the stone stairs to the granite of Pencarren's cobblestone streets above.

As I reached the top of the stairs, I saw several fires in the town. A group of Teague's men were burning the buildings used by Hanibal's cutthroats, and Mr Dawes was guiding them to each one.

A sudden burst of noise from cannon shot striking nearby made me drop to the ground and look out over the harbour. From Hanibal's other ship, his men were firing on the very street where we were all fighting.

_They must be mad,_ I thought. _Why doesn't Hanibal stop them? Those guns could kill him or his men just as easily as they could destroy us._ And I wondered anew about the Basilikon.

Then I saw Barbossa at the water's edge, ordering some of the _Pearl's_ crew into a longboat and preparing to set out for the ship. Under his command, the men worked together with great speed and purpose, and my regard for him increased as I saw how fearless and capable a commander he was.

Turning back to shore, I saw Jack fighting with two swords amidst a group on the west quay, where the town's fishermen were wont to unload their catch and mend their nets. I recognized the ugly silhouette of Kenver Frayne in the knot of men battling near Jack, and I ran to join the fray.

By this time, I was filled with the excitement of fighting, and I attacked Frayne very hotly with sword and dagger. It was easy to parry his attacks with my weapons, but more difficult to counterattack with Colley's heavy sword, using the movements in which I had been trained. As I struck at his sword arm, Frayne, a massive pig of a man, caught my weapon with his. He quickly bound my sword to the ground, and stepped on its blade, disarming me. Then, kicking my sword away, he attacked. I leaned back to avoid him, and slipped on a patch of seaweed, falling over backwards. As I landed, my hand touched part of a fishing net. I swung the net wildly at Frayne's blade. In this ungainly way, I managed to parry and avoid the thrust; but as I scrambled to my feet, I had only my dagger and the torn net, and I could no longer see where Jack was.

In desperation, I shouted out to anyone in earshot _"Sword?!"_ The man fighting behind Frayne instantly turned towards me. It was Jack, and he quickly ran a sabre through Frayne. My opponent fell dead at my feet with the sword still sticking out of his back. I pulled out the blade, thanking Jack. He made me a courtly bow. "Use it in good health," he said with a wink.

Around us, rivulets of seawater were now beginning to flow over the quay as the water rose against the seawall. The shingle was completely underwater, whilst small crabs, quantities of wriggling pilchards, and clumps of seaweed made the slippery cobblestones a treacherous surface. Jack nudged me with his elbow and nodded towards the Red Lion, where much of the fighting was now taking place. Near the inn's hitching posts, Hanibal and Goron Pascoe were striking blows all round with savage success, as a small group of men tried to attack them.

I looked about me to see if Barbossa had returned, but Jack handed me a small spyglass and pointed towards the water. Through the glass, I could just pick out Barbossa on board Hanibal's remaining ship. He seemed to be fighting off several of the Judge's men, and the deck was swarming with activity, as the _Pearl's_ crew fought to carry out Barbossa's orders. "He'll scuttle her," Jack told me, hurriedly. "They'll blow the magazine and set her ablaze. He's alright, love; off we go." We turned and ran towards Pascoe and Hanibal.

Jack engaged Hanibal, who was a fighter far superior to Goron Pascoe. With all the force of my rage, I attacked Pascoe. He charged me, aiming a slashing blow at my head. I ducked under his sword arm and seized him about the middle, holding my sabre behind him. We grappled for a moment and then I quickly pushed away, drawing my blade hard along his ribs as I went. He bent towards his wounded left side and I slashed his right leg, making him stagger. I kicked at his crotch and knocked him over the inn's horse trough. Before he could recover, I ran my sabre upwards under his ribcage, and killed him.

Pulling the sabre from Pascoe's body, I looked about in vain for Mawgan Curnow. I heard the echo of an explosion across the harbour, and turned just in time to see a fireball rise from Hanibal's last ship, as her shattered hull began to settle in the water. Barbossa was already in the longboat with his men, returning to shore.

Over the water, the noise of the storm grew stronger, and I could hear within it the sound of Calypso's voice. Turning to the harbour, I saw both of Hanibal's sinking ships surrounded by an unearthly phenomenon. At first, it seemed as if thin, twisting columns of white smoke were rising from the waves, but then the columns resolved themselves into many pairs of arms, stretching an incredible distance from the sea to the decks. As ghostly hands began to grasp the sides of each ship, a throng of grim, watery faces appeared above the foamy water; Calypso had released the spirits of Hanibal's victims, whose elongated shapes began to pull the ships under the waves amidst the cries of the few brigands still aboard.

I pushed through the mob surrounding Hanibal and Jack, hoping Barbossa would arrive in time to join the fight. Moving about, I tried to find a chance to help Jack without getting in his way, but both combatants were fighting so hotly and so far above my skill that I could not see my opportunity.

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed another longboat approaching the shore, with a figure standing tall in its bow, seemingly impervious to the wind and waves, although the sea near the boat appeared strangely smooth. The level of the water was now just under the top of the sea wall, and Captain Teague stepped from the longboat straight onto the wall itself, and thence down to the cobblestones. Fighters on both sides fell silent, and even the storm seemed to abate, as Teague strode purposefully towards Jack and Hanibal.

The crowd parted as he approached, and then Teague stood alone with two pistols pointed at the Judge.

Hanibal raised his hand. "Edward! You know dearest Marianne wouldn't want you to murder her brother!" Teague walked slowly towards him, stopped, and remarked to Jack, "You're in my way again, boy."

Jack took a step back. "All yours, dad," he said.

"You're a piece of work, Hanibal, and no mistake – usin' _her _memory in that way," Teague replied in a steady voice. "But you killed the only one who could stay me hand, so my lovely girl ain't here to plead for you now. Ironic, innit?"

"Harry wouldn't approve," said Hanibal. Teague paused, expressionless, and lowered his pistols.

Then he said, "Nah, Harry'd be fine with it." He fired both pistols and Hanibal dropped to the street, motionless.

A great huzzah went up, and Teague acknowledged it, yet he remained staring at Hanibal for a few moments, as we felt the force of heavier wind gusts beginning to build around us.

Seeing him fall, many of Hanibal's men threw down their weapons and surrendered to us. A smaller band of villainous looking scoundrels gathered together between our men and the harbour, aiming to make a stand against us. But as the first squall line reached the shore, the same spirits that had sunk Hanibal's ships rose out of the foamy waters once more and began to overrun the sea wall, like pale threads of spindrift blown by the high winds. They twined their ghostly arms about the brigands, dragging them into the sea. In an instant, they pulled those cutthroats under the waves, never to be seen again.

Peter Dawes, Jack and Barbossa supervised the rounding up of Hanibal's men as the weather worsened. Captain Teague gave orders to secure the prisoners and take shelter before the core of the storm arrived: the roar of the wind was already making it difficult to be heard, and bands of heavier rain were spreading across the outer harbour.

In the ensuing confusion, I abruptly lost sight of Hanibal's body for several minutes. When the street was clear again, his body was gone. "What happened to the Judge?" I shouted, running here and there, trying to catch sight of Jack or Barbossa. Jack was the first to hear my voice over the noise, and he followed me back to the place where Hanibal had fallen. He looked surprised and taken aback to find no body on the cobblestones.

"And where is Mawgan Curnow?" I asked him. With growing alarm, I realised that both men were nowhere to be found. Although it seemed unthinkable, it was clear that Hanibal had somehow cheated death, and my speculations led me back to the fear that he was protected by the Basilikon. That meant he and Curnow were likely both escaping, even though the sea and the town's roads were all but impassable.

There remained but one way out.

"They've gone back to Highcliffe!" I cried to Jack as the rain began to pelt us in earnest. "They'll escape through the tunnels!" The old tunnels under Highcliffe led out to natural caves near the water; as children, Jack and I had played there, but in older times the tunnels had been witness to many graver forms of mischief. Frantic, I began to run towards Highcliffe with all my remaining strength, leaving the town in the hands of my friends. So intent was I upon preventing my enemies' escape that I did not see a tall, solitary figure take after me. Barbossa would not let me face my deadliest foes alone.

When I reached Highcliffe, I was breathless. Strong gales were whipping the trees now, accompanied by the storm's driving, torrential rain. I had not heard Barbossa's footsteps following me on the path; thinking myself alone, I was badly startled when he caught me by the arm and swung me round to face him.

He seized my hands tightly and shouted so that I could hear him. "We go in together," he ordered me, clasping my hands in palms that were callused and sweat-dampened. "Yer t' stay where I can see ye, an' I'll have no arguin' from ye!"

I nodded, but then I glanced back at the house, and gasped as I saw fire through the windows. "He means to burn it down and keep us from following him!" I yelled. I was not certain Barbossa could hear me, but I knew we would have to gain the house quickly, before the storm made it impossible to stand. With nerves keyed to the highest pitch, I turned and started forward rapidly, Barbossa at my side.

As we reached the door, I could see that some of the central roof was in flames. Fearing it might collapse and prevent us from pursuing our adversaries, I darted across the Great Hall without thinking. The moment I reached the far side, several burning rafters fell. I looked back, but could not see Barbossa through the smoke and fire, and I knew he could not follow me. Alone, I turned and began to hunt Curnow and the Judge.

* * *

Next week (9/27/13): Chapter 27 - And the Heavens Fall - In which loyalties and passions may be Nina's undoing.


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